Quotidian
by firefly
Summary: When she accepted the graveyard shift of border patrol, Temari expected to find nothing but snakes and scorpions nestled between the dunes of dark sand. Amongst them, the last thing she expected to find was a missing nin out for a midnight prayer.
1. Bump in the Night

Quotidian

By: firefly

Note: Okay, this is the last fic I post before I update One of the Cool Kids. I PROMISE. XD Anyway, since a couple of people asked for a sequel or another HidanTema fic after reading _Coffee Table Talk_, I obliged and came up with this. It was only supposed to be a oneshot, but…it turned into 50 pages. XD So I'm splitting it up into chapters. Enjoy, and reviews would be love!

Warning: This fic will get extremely bizarre. It's not a romance. It is pure mindfuckery and psychological weirdness. You've been warned. XD

**Bump in the Night**

Beyond the warmth of the torches, the sand dunes stretched for miles across the landscape, tapering off into the arid soil and dead vegetation of the River country outskirts. Hills of sand, deceptively smooth and still, glowed with a dim, blue luminance beneath the moon, trillions of facets of glass and stone glimmering like eyes in the frigid darkness.

A chilled wind swept in from the North and made the torches flicker sporadically, the shadows dancing on the surrounding, glowing sand. A flame licked up into the sky with violent intensity before extinguishing in the wind, its shadow vanishing and revealing the scorpions that started at the sudden loss of warmth.

Temari watched them, her eyes watering and glistening blue in the chill. They danced on the sand; stingers poised threateningly, claws colliding when they rushed violently at each other at random.

A fellow jounin approached with oil and a lighter, and the scorpions scattered when the torch started up again with a faint roar, speckling the surrounding sand with oil.

Temari nodded to him in acknowledgement, burrowing deeper into her coat before changing posts with him. She trudged through the sand, feeling the chill on her toes despite the thick hide of her boots.

Clenching her teeth to stop the chattering, she walked closer to the torches, zigzagging through them so the warmth touched on both sides of her body.

A few minutes later she came to a stop at her new post, turning to glare out at the dark horizon with her numb fingers clenched in her pockets.

It was 2:45 in the morning.

That alone proved that the Kazekage didn't play favourites—assigning his own sister the graveyard shift of border patrol. Temari was never one to complain, but it had been three weeks since she'd gotten the shift (from midnight to five AM), and almost twice she'd suffered severe frostbite.

Clenching her teeth again, she prayed for the construction of barricades to move faster, glaring at the lumps of disconnected metal piled in the distance.

Manually guarding the border to Suna like this was exhaustive and expensive, but ever since Gaara's kidnapping, the council had made it mandatory. The missing nins responsible for the kidnapping _had_ entered from River country, after all.

And unfortunately, until the engineers could design a barricade that wouldn't sink in the sand, she was stuck patrolling every night.

She shivered, stifling a yawn and grimacing when her eyes watered. Worse than the cold, it was the tedious nature of the job that bugged her.

Walk, stare, walk, stare, stare some more, walk some more, etc. Talking to the other guards was prohibited, since it distracted from the task at hand.

Temari loathed the old farts responsible for the ridiculous rule, since there hadn't been any suspicious activity for the entire three weeks she'd been stationed there. Her only comfort was the fifteen-minute switch between posts, since it gave her an opportunity—short as it was—to work some blood into her frigid limbs.

Time passed with agonizing slowness, and her shins ached beneath the cool gusts of wind that snaked around her legs. She pulled her hands out of her coat pockets long enough to tighten the shawl around her head and adjust the radio transmitter, and her fingers slackened in relief when her watch beeped.

Turning away from the torch, she lowered the cloth covering her mouth and squinted at the chunnin who came jogging over to her.

She grew wary instantly, taking in his wide-eyed expression and breathlessness.

"What is it?" Temari demanded.

"We've got a suspicious person a little lower down south," he panted, his breath fogging in the air. "At the oasis."

"They're not attempting to infiltrate the border?"

"No, Temari-san. He's just…sitting there."

Temari quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you sure it's not an animal or some debris? It's dark out there."

The chunnin shook his head, looking vaguely troubled as he glanced back down at the direction from which he came.

"We're sure it's a man. He…uh…spoke to us," he said uncomfortably, scratching his head.

"What did he say?"

"Well, um, Sugimura told him to get lost and he…uh…I'd rather not say it, Temari-san."

Temari rolled her eyes, burrowing deeper into her coat and glaring out at the chunnin over her shawl.

"He's probably just a stray. If the cold doesn't kill him, we will. No one's getting past the border without some documentation."

Looking relieved, the chunnin nodded and eagerly swapped posts with her. Temari held the shawl to her face as she walked to her next post, squinting past the light of the torches at the faint glimmer of water on the horizon.

From where she stood, the oasis was just a shiny splatter on the matte backdrop of sand, glimmering faintly in the moonlight.

She stopped at her post a few minutes later. The oasis continued to shine, rippling and holding her attention from where she stood. When she averted her eyes long enough to glance at the line of posts leading down from hers, she found her fellow guards, small black specks in the firelight, to be staring out at the oasis with the same fixedness.

It was 4:17 AM, nautical dawn, when she finally got close enough to make out the edges surrounding the oasis. Barely discernable against the midnight blue backdrop of sand was a pitch black shape, crouching at the oasis's edge just fifteen meters from the nearest torch and guardsman.

Temari stared, wondering if he was alive or if he'd succumbed to hypothermia sometime during the night.

Fixated, she watched, along with the others, straining for a sound in the deafening silence of the landscape. There wasn't a sound for at least fifteen minutes—no wind, no birds, and no voices. The sand lay docile among her boots, unperturbed by the lack of wind.

The sky brightened into a cold, metallic blue streaked with magenta, ethereal over the dark landscape, and just as the black shape became clearly discernable as a man, it moved. Temari started, stepping forward when the figure rose, stretching his arms up to the metallic sky.

Something enormous and curved merged with his black silhouette, jutting out next to his shoulder.

Temari took another step closer, her numb fingers descending on the frame of her fan as the figure just stood there, unmoving. Then, just as the magenta sky melted to a brighter orange, the figure casually turned back in the direction of River country and left.

The guards stared after his departing figure in silence, exchanging bewildered looks with each other. A few minutes later, their watches beeped simultaneously.

Five AM.

Their shifts were over.

* * *

"What was he doing?"

"I don't know, it was too dark to tell."

"He was bathing. I heard the splashing."

"Don't be ridiculous, the water would have been freezing."

"Did you hear what he said to Sugimura? Haha…"

Temari listened passively to her fellow guardsmen as they all trudged back to the village, loosening their shawls and coats as the Sun rose and warmed their backs.

The morning border patrollers walked past them, carrying crates of water and donning white headdresses and thin linen to endure the searing heat of the desert sun. Temari glanced back at them morosely.

She definitely preferred the heat over the cold, and decided she needed to have a talk with Gaara about switching her shifts.

Kankuro was still sleeping when she came home, his muffled snores soft and oddly comforting in the quiet, cool hallway of the second floor. Kicking off her sand-laden boots and dropping her coat and shawl to the floor, Temari collapsed on her bed and fell asleep the instant her head met the pillow.

She wouldn't remember her vaguely unsettling dream of the black figure until midnight that night.

* * *

The following night was slightly warmer than the previous one, and for this Temari was grateful, loosening her shawl as she stood at her post. A couple of hours passed in silence, the air so chilled the wind seemed frozen, petrified into stillness. The only change in atmosphere resulted from her slow, steady breaths fogging in the air.

It was a little past 2 AM when the whisperings started again.

The same chunnin from the night before jogged over to her as they switched posts, her new post much closer to the oasis than the previous one.

"He's back?" Temari asked blankly, when the wide-eyed chunnin gestured breathlessly in the direction of the oasis.

He nodded fervently, looking visibly nervous as Temari's upper lip curled and she switched posts, walking with purposeful strides towards the next one. As she arrived at the post, the firelight blazed with a gust of wind, filling her ears with the flapping of flames and scattering of sand.

When it subsided, her surroundings fell eerily silent again, and the only part of the oasis she could see was the faintly glimmering surface of the water. The firelight reflected off the water's black surface as specks of rippling, orange light, and it wasn't until she realized the water was being disturbed that she heard the sound.

Splashing.

Her eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief. The water must have been close to freezing temperature.

Straining her ears, she continued listening, hearing the distinct, gentle pattering of water droplets on sand. The surface of the water stilled momentarily after that, steadying itself into a smooth, black disc dotted with firelight.

Then it broke abruptly with an audible splash, distorting the firelight into dancing orange lines on its rippling surface.

Temari stared at it, listening and breathing, her fingers slack by her sides. Slowly, as the wavering, orange firelight stilled on the water again, recollections of childhood and the previous night's dream came drifting to her in fragments.

A murder of migrating crows, a thick and chaotic cloud of feathers and screaming blackness had descended on Suna when Temari had been eight years old. Never in her life had she seen so many creatures in one place, black as pitch and screeching till the noise made her want to hide under the bed. They descended on the house and settled on the window ledges, flapping against the windows indignantly, their black beaks pecking at the glass.

She remembered it vividly, huddling on her bed with Kankuro, staring with wide eyes at the enormous carrion crow on her windowsill. It turned its head and she saw its beak, long and black and slightly curved. There was something red and glistening dangling from it.

_What is that?_ She remembered asking herself. _Where did it get that?_

Then the crow tilted its head back, opened its curved, black beak, and swallowed it.

Temari remembered screaming herself hoarse when it happened.

In her dream, the black figure had been a crow. The long, curved, black _something_ emerging from his shape—it had been a black beak.

When she recalled the surreal, distorted image, it was with a faint sense of foreboding.

Crows signified something. Something foreign. Something peculiar.

"Something bad," she'd murmured upon waking that afternoon, unable to recall why she'd said it until now.

She didn't quite believe in omens, but then she'd said that when Gaara had been kidnapped.

Unnerved by the memory, she shook her head and rubbed her eyes, taking a deep breath before glancing out at the oasis again. The water had finally stilled, and there was silence.

The next two hours continued to pass soundlessly with agonizing slowness, and she continued straining her eyes, moving closer towards the oasis with every fifteen-minute switch.

She was just nearing the edge when the first hints of pale, blue light appeared in the sky. Thin streaks of clouds came out of hiding, and she kept her eyes locked fastidiously on the water's edge, waiting for a glimpse of the figure, waiting for a glimpse of the curved _something_ attached to him.

Nautical dawn came again, and the edges of the oasis became discernable.

She checked her watch.

4:17 AM.

Her breath stopped fogging in the air, and she swept the shawl down to her shoulders, wincing at the feel of cool wind against her clammy cheeks. Another seven minutes passed, and then she saw him.

He was crouching at the edge, just like before. Her eyes widened.

The curved thing was gone.

Unconsciously, she released the breath she'd been holding.

As she did, the figure moved to stand, and her stomach flipped when he kneeled down and lifted a large object lying next to him. Momentarily held straight, she was able to make it out for what it was.

A scythe, its silhouette pitch black against the blue backdrop of sand, stood almost as tall as the figure, decked with three long, curved blades.

Relief should have been the last thing she felt, but her shoulders slackened nonetheless as he attached it to his back and turned to leave again, just as the first tints of orange started lightening the sky.

Half an hour later, her shift ended.

* * *

"I'm going to kill that bastard."

"What did he say to you this time, Sugimura?"

"Did you see that weapon? Perhaps we should tell Kazekage-sama…"

"No," Temari said sharply, turning to face the alarmed jounin who'd spoken, stopping in the middle of their trek back to the village.

"Kazekage-sama has enough to worry about at the moment. If something happens, we'll handle it ourselves. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Temari paused, turning to glance at the jounin known as Sugimura. He looked infuriated.

"What's your problem?" Temari asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The stranger said something to him," Sugimura's friend offered with a wide grin.

"What did he say?"

Sugimura's face reddened.

"I'd rather not say…"

"I'm not twelve years old," Temari said impatiently. "Whatever it was, I'm sure I can handle it. Spit it out."

"I told him to get lost…and…" Sugimura trailed off, face reddening further, and his friend stepped forward with a cheeky grin.

"The stranger told him to go fuck a camel, ma'am."

The entire group of patrollers burst into laughter.

Temari could only stare in disbelief.

The day passed quickly. By the time she woke, it was 4 PM, and by the time she finished carrying out errands and attended three meetings, it was 9 PM.

She waited out the three hours at home, listlessly flipping through channels as her dinner heated in the oven. Kankuro sat at the kitchen table, getting black grease everywhere as he tinkered with his puppets.

Temari couldn't bring herself to care, intent on imagining herself finally getting the post closest to the oasis, and getting rid of the strange figure once and for all. Granted, he wasn't really doing anything that was a cause for concern, but his presence was making the other patrollers skittish.

Complacently, she patted the pocket flap of her shoulder bag, tracing the cylindrical ground flares contained within.

At 11:30 PM, she departed for the border, hopping over rooftops and fences. By the time the houses tapered off and she emerged onto the outskirts, Temari whipped open her fan and caught the strongest gust of wind, settling onto it to ride it out towards the border.

The gust would carry her there within half an hour, and she waved down at the camel-riding patrollers beneath her with a wry grin as she swept past.

She followed the path of bright torches till they separated and went right and left across the landscape. Leaping onto the sand, she glanced at the weary patrollers who'd been there from 7 PM.

They gratefully murmured their thanks when she dismissed them, and she started down south, trudging through the windswept sand towards her post.

When she arrived, she was pleased to see the oasis was better-lit then before, the water illuminated by the full moon that hovered directly overhead.

Unbuttoning the pocket flap of her shoulder bag, Temari slipped her hand inside, and with a flick of her wrist, used her fan to extinguish the bright flame of the torch. Smoke spiraled into the still air in lazy, silver wisps, and she watched the burning embers glow orange and fade crimson at intervals, filling the cold air with the bittersweet smell of burnt wood.

The embers eventually faded black and she settled down next to the torch to wait.

Two hours passed in silence, the absence of sound as surreal as ever as she watched a snake slither towards the patch of light emitted by the torch to her right, its body only a thin, wriggling line from where she sat.

A bite could kill in less than ten minutes, so in a way, they also played their part to protect Suna's borders. The country's shinobi were already immune to the venom after the invention of an anti-venom-based vaccination, and rather than eradicate the reptiles, they were kept as a form of protection against invaders.

The snake eventually stopped moving and lay still in the warmth of the torch light. Temari watched it contentedly. A few minutes later, she heard a faint splash.

Startled, she glanced out at the oasis, catching sight of the rippling water.

Goose bumps rose with a flourish beneath her clothes, and licking her lips, she reached into her bag and withdrew two of the ground flares. Once lit, they would burn a bright red for up to half an hour.

She waited for three more splashes, honing in on the direction of the noise, and then gradually got to her feet. Speed was crucial in determining the figure's identity.

Once she pulled the caps, she would have to throw them close to the oasis's edge. There was no time to pause. Just the sound of them flaring up would be enough to send him running.

Biting her lip, she counted to ten in her head, slipping her finger through the stringed loop attached to the cap.

…_9…10._

The flare started up with a hiss the instant she yanked the cap off, illuminating her surroundings. At the very moment she saw the red light she threw it as hard as she could.

It spiraled through the dark, lighting the sandy slope leading down from where she stood.

When it landed, a huge portion of the oasis suddenly became visible, the water glistening blood red in the light. There was a startled yelp, followed by a loud splash.

She was just able to make out the half-naked figure that fell halfway into the water before it scrambled back onto the dark sand outside the circle of red light.

Temari grinned and tossed the second flare.

It landed right next to him and he cursed, rolling away from it. Within the two circles of bright red light, she could make out his weapon, and next to it, a discarded black cloak.

She squinted, and her grin faded as the distinct shapes on the cloak became visible.

Clouds.

_Crows. Bad omen. Something bad._

Her fingers flew up to the radio transmitter.

"Don't move!" Temari shouted, her warning meant for the other patrollers. "I'll handle this!"

The confidence with which she warned them relayed none of the sickening fear in the pit of her stomach.

She knew those cloaks. She remembered the owners of those cloaks to be the ones responsible for nearly killing both of her brothers.

It took every ounce of self-control she had to not snap open her fan and lunge forward in blind fury.

Her breathing was shaky, she found, and she forced herself to remain calm, tightening her gloved fingers into tight, trembling fists.

The figure was indeed a man, shirtless and wet from where he'd fallen into the water. He sat on the sand and held a hand over his brow, looking up in her direction.

"What the fuck was that for?" he shouted, sounding furious. "Trying to set me on fire, you Suna shit heads?"

"Shut up!" Temari shouted back, shocked with the way her voice sounded almost panicked. "Go back to where you came from!"

"You bitch," he said angrily, getting to his feet with his fists clenched by his sides. "Are you blind? I'm still in River country!"

"Leave!" Temari shouted vehemently, fury rendering her voice shrill. "Get out of here!"

"Make me!" he retorted, and flipped her off.

The urge to discard her fan and skewer the man with a hundred kunai was almost unbearable. She never knew it was humanly possible to experience a loathing of this degree, let alone experience a desire to inflict as much pain as possible.

Gritting her teeth, she dug her boots into the sand, reaching out to grip the extinguished torch next to her. The wood splintered beneath her grip.

She forced herself to steady her breathing, and when she spoke again a few seconds later, she sounded calmer.

"Why are you here?" she demanded, making her voice as authoritative as possible. "Answer me!"

"That's not any of your fucking business, now is it?" he replied scathingly, brushing off the wet sand that clung to his skin.

Her grip on the torch tightened, her fingers aching in strain. Biting her lip, she watched him, glaring intensely as he crouched back down near the oasis, muttering curses and pouring handfuls of water over his sand-coated arm.

Had Temari been in a calmer mood, she might have marveled at how he could withstand the wind chill and freezing water on his bare skin. But now, all vestiges of coherency were gone from her mind, replaced with loathing and disgust.

She wanted him gone. Possibly dead. Dead and buried in the sand beneath her feet.

She clenched her fists again.

"Leave now," she commanded, her voice clear and loud in the still air. "This is your last warning."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, getting to his feet and turning to face her direction again. "Or what? I'd like to see you cross the border first, bitch."

"If you give me anymore reason to, I will," she said icily.

"Anymore reason to? I'm fucking sitting here minding my own business and you try to set me on fire!" he shouted, sounding indignant. "Shit, Deidara was right. You Suna nins are out of your fucking minds."

"I know the organization you're a part of," Temari said, unconscious of whether he could hear her or not. "I know what kind of people you are."

"Is that so? Then you'd be an idiot to cross over here yourself," he said, the sneer obvious in his tone.

"If you continue giving me a reason to—"

"I'm not doing anything!" he roared back, kicking up a spray of sand. "God dammit, I'm still in River country!"

"You're a member of a criminal organization. Leave."

"As if I'll take orders from you. I'm not going anywhere."

"_Leave_."

"Come here and make me!"

"Leave!"

"Fuck you!"

Temari clenched her teeth, glaring intensely down at the man who stood obstinately in the bright circles of red light, his body eerily illuminated crimson.

She clenched the torch tighter to prevent herself from moving forward, telling herself he was most likely an S-class missing nin with powers unknown, telling herself it would be suicidal to try and attack him on her own.

Unable to think of a response, she fell silent. He stood there, staring up in her direction, unable to make out her silhouette in the dark. A few minutes later, he turned and walked back to where he'd left his cloak, settling down on the sand next to it.

He didn't bother moving out of the light. She watched him, vaguely perturbed by his stillness and silence. At one point, she half-expected a bunshin to burst out of the sand or for him to do something—anything—even remotely remarkable. But he just sat there, still shirtless in the numbing cold.

Now she understood why the other patrollers had found his presence so unnerving.

"What are you doing?" she finally demanded.

He didn't reply.

Temari's voice rose an octave.

"Hey, I asked you—"

"Would you shut up?" he snapped suddenly. "I'm trying to fucking pray, here."

Temari was sure she'd misheard him.

"You're what?"

"Okay, seriously, you're pissing me off. Jashin-sama can't hear me if you're bitching like that, so shut up!"

Again, she was positive that she'd misheard him, but was too infuriated by his audacity to care.

"Listen, asshole. If my _bitching_ can drive you out of here, then I won't stop."

"If you don't stop, I'll give you a reason to come over here and I'll shut you up myself."

"I'm more than ready, you bastard. Just give me a reason."

"Seriously, what the hell is your problem? Leave me alone!"

"What's _your_ problem? Why don't you just leave?"

"Why the hell should I listen to you?"

"Fine, don't listen. I'll just keep _bitching_, then."

"Seriously, when I'm done praying, God is going to lay some serious smiting on your loud ass."

Temari stared at him wordlessly, knowing now that her ears weren't deceiving her.

He was here to pray? A member of the Akatsuki organization was here in the freezing desert at two-something in the morning to _pray_?

"You're insane," Temari said contemptuously. "Or lying. Or both."

"What the hell are you talking about, heathen? I keep telling you I'm not fucking doing anything."

Temari stared at him critically, at his clear, red form sitting cross-legged in the sand.

If she was going to be honest with herself, she had to admit he hadn't done anything remotely suspicious besides being there in the first place. Not only that, but he insisted he was there for prayer, and it would be foolish to try and provoke him into attacking when she had no idea what his abilities were.

Subdued, she fell silent, settling for watching him. He eventually lowered his head again and resumed his prayers.

Fifteen minutes later, when her watch beeped, Temari remained seated. She pressed a button on the headset and patched herself through to the others, telling them to keep their posts till the end of their shifts. Her frosty, hard-edged tone left no room for argument.

There was no sensation of feeling cold. She felt nothing, watching him from where she sat, forgetting to shiver and forgetting to blink. All she remembered was a tense awareness for movement.

He might have been holding something in his hands, but she couldn't tell from where she sat. That, and one of the flares had extinguished, the other on the verge of following. Its weak, crimson light flickered sporadically, stretching and distorting his jagged shadow over the red sand.

Temari bit her lip and withdrew another flare.

There was no way she was letting him out of her sight, especially now that she knew who he was.

"Hey you," she called, and then lit a third flare and tossed it.

He only glanced up when it landed—right on his cloak.

"Holy shit—!"

Temari felt a bitter sense of satisfaction when the sleeve caught fire and he sprang forward, grabbing fistfuls of sand to douse the flames.

After thoroughly drowning his cloak in sand and putting out the fire, he stood up again and took a few steps forward, standing right at the edge of the lit sand.

She smirked.

"Okay, you're seriously pushing it!" he shouted furiously. "Try that one more time. I'll—"

"Shut up," Temari commanded, pleased that her voice regained its cool detachedness. "As long as you're here, I can't let you out of my sight. So there's a lot more where those came from."

She expected him to shout and curse some more. What she didn't expect was for him to suddenly pick up the second, dying flare and fling it violently in her direction.

Gasping, she threw herself sideways onto the sand, barely avoiding the flare as it smashed into the torch she'd been leaning against. The collision of metal on wood echoed loudly in the silent desert, and a shower of bright sparks rained down on her, brilliantly illuminating the sand.

The flare extinguished almost instantly, but the damage had been done.

"Ha! I see you, Suna bitch!" he shouted triumphantly. "You should have kept your damn mouth shut!"

Momentarily stunned, Temari continued lying there on the sand, wondering how on earth he'd thrown the flare so precisely. He shouldn't have been able to see her, so the only thing he could have based his aim on was the sound of her voice.

Her throat tightened in anger and anxiety.

Not only had she given away her location, but she'd underestimated him.

His perfect throw couldn't have been a fluke, and had she been a fraction slower, she was sure the flare would have cracked her skull.

"Tch, I missed," he groused, before turning and striding back to his spot.

Temari slowly sat up, her shock waning into anger and contempt once more.

"You're lucky you missed," she said in a sneering tone. "Otherwise we'd have perfect reason to kill you."

"Hey, I'm giving you a reason! All of you can come at me—I'll sacrifice you all to my God!"

Again, she fell silent, bemused by his choice of words. The idea of a religious man being part of a criminal organization just didn't compute, but then she had no idea what kind of religion he followed, anyway.

And she didn't want to know, she told herself vehemently. She wanted him gone.

But he didn't leave, remaining obstinately near the water, his weapon resting mere inches from his fingertips.

Eventually the third flare began to die out as well. Her only reaction to this was to light the second to last one and toss it, this time a respectful distance from his belongings.

He glanced up briefly when she did, but said nothing.

Half an hour later, she threw her last flare.

It fizzled out at 4:15 AM, just as the sky began to lighten. The crimson glaze of light faded to a cold, metallic blue, making him appear almost statuesque. He hadn't budged for an hour and a half.

Then, just as the faint blue light of dawn lightened the sky, he moved.

Temari watched him reach forward and pull on his cloak, watched him grab his scythe and rise to his feet. There was a moment of silence when he turned and glanced in her direction, and she broke out in goose bumps, knowing he could see her black silhouette against the cold blue sky.

She broke the silence first, her voice calm.

"Don't come back."

She couldn't see his face from where she sat, but she was positive he was grinning when he answered.

"Just for that, I will."

Then he turned and left.

Forty minutes later, her shift ended.

* * *

The walk back to the village was a silent one. When she returned home and climbed the stairs to the second floor, she paused by Kankuro's room. Her brother slept soundly, sprawled haphazardly over the bed, his blanket in a twisted heap on the floor.

The sound of his soft, steady breathing infiltrated the hall, a stark contrast to the cacophony of anxious thoughts swarming her mind.

Temari gazed at him, and abruptly felt her loathing for the Akatsuki erupt with an intensity that made her nauseous.

They'd almost taken Kankuro and Gaara away from her, and now one of them was just a step outside her country's border. Just watching Kankuro sleep brought back vivid images of him lying pale and near death on the hospital bed, his features contorted in agony. She remembered how he'd been too weak to grip her hand, and a lump rose in her throat at the memory.

Closing Kankuro's door gently behind her, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

When she thought of him, of the foul-mouthed recalcitrant on her country's doorstep, her jaw clenched so hard it ached, eyes hardening as her thoughts became poisonous.

One more reason—it was all she needed. One legitimate reason and she'd sever his head from his body—and possibly mail it via care package to his organization.

When she blinked herself out of the fantasy and found herself grinning, the realization was met with both fright and exhilaration.

At 6 AM, when she dropped lethargically into bed and laid her head against the pillow, she didn't close her eyes, the noise in her head too unbearable in the dark. So she settled for staring at the blinds and pictured a faceless figure with a wide, white grin.

_Just for that, I will._

She didn't sleep after that.


	2. Let's Play a Game

Quotidian

By: firefly

Note: First and foremost, a huge THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to review chapter one. You have no idea how much I appreciated the feedback, especially since I was already freaked out about posting this weird fic in the first place. I hope you guys enjoy the second chapter!

Also, I was asked if this fic was related in any way to _Coffee Table Talk. _Rest assured, it is not. XD

Lastly, this fic places a lot of emphasis on Temari's introspection, and I'll warn you now—it gets damn creepy. Temari is a scary girl. XD

**Let's Play a Game**

Eighteen hours dragged by with agonizing slowness after her sleepless night, and Temari spent the day carrying out errands with a silent, withdrawn fixedness, thinking of what the night ahead would bring.

When the time finally came, she returned to the border, running on nothing but adrenaline and determination.

Her shoulder pack was heavier and larger than before, containing several ground flares, exploding notes, wire, and as many kunai and shuriken as she could cram into it. Leaving the torch at her post burning, she tightened her shawl, sat down, and waited.

The first hour passed alarmingly fast, time evaporating in a rush of energy and light after she gave herself an injection of a stimulant drug. Meant to work as a quick fix, the drug was developed to allow tired shinobi to keep working efficiently—sort of like what coffee did, only the drug was stronger and longer-lasting.

Invigorated and tensed, she waited, ignoring the scorpions that fought near the torch, focused only on the glimmering water of the oasis.

At 1:45 AM, she threw the first flare, aiming it towards the edge where he'd spent his hours the night before.

He'd consistently showed up a little after 2 AM for the past three days, and she wanted to catch him the moment he arrived. His obnoxious attitude told her he'd come towards the flare, if only to show her his blatant disregard for her warnings. She was counting on it.

_Come on, asshole, _she mouthed, her breath fogging in the air. _I'm waiting._

Half an hour later, she finally decided to let her eyes stray from the circle of red light long enough to light another flare.

As she reached into her bag and withdrew another, slipping her finger through the looped string, she glanced down at the red circle of sand and froze.

He stood directly in the middle of it, head cocked to the side and looking up in her direction.

There was amusement in his tone when he spoke.

"Hey, crazy bitch with the flares, is that you?"

Temari twitched, her only answer another lit flare that spiraled down the short slope and landed close to the first, which extinguished a few seconds later.

"Heh, I knew it," he said, sounding smug. "Are you going to try to set me on fire again?"

"Only if you give me a reason to," she replied flatly.

"Fair enough," he said, sounding almost pleasant. "This is convenient, seriously. I couldn't see a single goddamn thing before."

He sounded like he was in a good mood. That irked her.

When she didn't reply, he turned away, walking over to the edge of the oasis to set down his scythe. With a quick yank he pulled off his cloak, throwing it carelessly to the sand.

When she caught a glimpse of his bare torso, her blood stilled.

Despite the distance between them, she could make out something black coating his chest and left arm, looking almost like a messy paint job.

Without sparing her a glance, he knelt by the oasis, and instead of cupping a handful of water, he reached for the sand.

Bewildered, she watched as he stretched out his left arm and sprinkled the sand over the blackness. She knew exactly what the blackness was the instant he began rubbing the sand in.

Dried, coagulated blood mingled with the fine, coarse grains, his skin gradually relinquishing the grime in the form of darkened clumps of sand that scattered to the ground.

She watched his blackened left arm grow spotless within five minutes, and felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise when he carefully cupped a handful of sand and pressed it to the blackness on his chest, rubbing it in vigorously.

The blood fell off of him like black rain.

He was methodical and careful, purposeful and deliberately slow, showing her, unnerving her, frightening her.

As far as she could tell, he had no wound to explain the amount of blood on his skin, and something clenched in the pit of her stomach as she wondered who the blood came from.

Questions, like the questions she'd asked as an eight-year-old when she saw the crow with the red, glistening something dangling from its beak, pushed at her throat.

_Whose is that?_ She wondered. _Where did he get that?_

He scrubbed at his skin vigorously for nearly ten minutes, and once he was spotless he leaned forward and ladled a handful of water first over his arm, and then over his neck, washing away any remnants of dust that lingered on his skin.

The splashing sounded surreal, now that she could see the source of the noise. It sounded far off, as if it was coming from underground. She could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

He continued pouring the icy water over himself, never looking her way, focused solely on the task at hand.

Then, a few minutes later, he finally withdrew his hand from the water, running his fingers through his hair before settling back on the sand.

Knowing she was watching, knowing she was staring, knowing he was unnerving her, he casually removed something from around his neck, holding it in his hands and bowing his head towards it.

Praying.

_What are you doing?_ Temari wondered numbly. _Trying to show me your apathy? Trying to show me you just killed someone? Trying to make me hate you? Well, it's working, you son of a bitch. It's working._

As he sat still and prayed, the water gradually stilled, flat as a black sheet of glass. Somewhere within its pristine depths, the black, sandy grime from his body tainted it, sinking and diffusing like poison.

In the future, even when granted permission to cross the border during missions, Temari would never drink from or bathe in the oasis again.

Certainly, she killed people, and of course there were instances where she got covered in their blood. But she was never happy about it. She never killed if it wasn't necessary. She never walked around sporting the spatters like honourary badges.

But him—he washed off the remnants of another life as if it were spilled ink, washed it off methodically as if he'd done it a hundred times before. How many times had he been to the oasis before guards had been stationed there? How many opportunities had he had to walk right in, this one who killed people and smiled in the aftermath?

Suddenly she didn't feel cold anymore. She felt something not quite like fury and not quite like disgust and not quite like fear. It burned and flushed her face red, seared like venom and made her feel so nauseous that she wondered if she'd been stung by one of the scorpions.

Rage would have empowered her, would have pushed at her throat to have her screaming, but this made her throat close up, this sealed her lips together and stifled her voice. This made her pulse race and her grip on her fan grow weak. She'd never felt anything like this before.

Temari didn't speak until the sky began to lighten almost two hours later. Up until then, her only reactions had been to toss a new flare every time the previous one expired.

She'd watched him unwaveringly for two hours, feeling slightly ill from the burning rush of emotion that scorched all vestiges of coherent thought and rendered her speechless.

_What is this? _She wondered blankly. _Am I sick?_

Her thoughts ceased when, just like the night before, he shifted as the sand dunes surrounding the oasis became discernable in the dark.

The landscape was silent save for the quiet rush of sand drifting with the wind, the scattering grains partially burying his weapon and cloak. He casually retrieved both, shaking the sand from his cloak before putting it on.

The last flare sputtered to death and he turned to glance at it. Then, with casual deliberateness, he looked up in her direction.

From where he stood, and given the lightness of the sky and the bright flame of the torch, he could probably see her leaning against it quite clearly. Temari could only stare back, the feeling in her worse than ever.

Then, just as he turned to leave, she called out.

"Whose was it?"

He paused, and then turned back around, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Temari said nothing more, knowing he knew perfectly well what she meant.

There was a moment of silence. When he answered, he sounded almost serene.

"I didn't know her name."

When she didn't reply, he turned back around and left, disappearing over the sand dunes.

* * *

The crow was a bird that feasted on carrion. It was a scavenger.

He was somewhat different.

The flesh was warm when he went to his prey, clean and free of maggots and buzzing insects. Like the crow, he was intelligent, never leaving a sign, never giving them a chance to scream.

The crow was a trickster.

In that aspect, he was the same. He lured and spoke with dulcet pretense, weaving a web of security with gentle words. Informal and laidback, he instilled a sense of ease in his victims, hiding a black nature behind a pretty face.

He wasn't a scavenger—the type to let the others do the dirty work. He was a crow that enjoyed the hunt. He was a predator.

Temari went over this when she found herself unable to sleep again.

The burning feeling pressed down on her, spilling streams of venom into her mouth till she felt like she was going to choke.

Sitting up, she propped her pillows against the headboard and leaned back against them, settling for staring at the bright lines of light peeking through the dark blinds.

Unconsciously, her right hand moved to touch her throat, tracing the rapid pulse and burning flesh.

Temari was eighteen years old and she'd never been in love. This made her feel as though love was exceedingly rare, something uncontrollable and passionate and overwhelming. It must have been an incredible emotion, to come along out of the blue in one's lifetime when they were least expecting it. It must have felt indescribable. True love must have been _so rare_.

As she sat and stared at the blinds, touching her throat, she recognized the burning, oppressive feeling pressing down on it, knowing it despite never having felt it before, knowing all at once that it was both stronger and fiercer and rarer than love.

_I'm in _hate_. I've fallen in _hate_. I _hate_ him. _

Before that moment, she'd never truly hated anything.

She felt something close to it for that snake man who'd betrayed her village, and in her younger years she childishly told herself she hated Gaara for being a self-serving monster.

Casually, she'd say "I hate the cold" and "I hate cockroaches". Ignorantly, she'd thought it was a convenient feeling to have for someone with a job like hers, where ruthlessness was a prerequisite and killing was quotidian.

She didn't know that hatred, true hatred, would make you feel this sick. She didn't think true hatred wouldn't let her sleep, or that it elicited painful, visceral reactions every time she replayed his voice in her head. She didn't know it would make her weak, that the rage and fury were merely components of intense dislike and irrelevant when it came to true hate.

She didn't think that with true hate, tears would remain dormant and screams would trip on the way out, growing muted behind closed lips.

Only now that she'd felt it, she knew, with a slight, bitter smile playing on her lips, that when and if she ever got the chance to kill him, she'd laugh.

She'd laugh and smile and feel no regret, and the realization frightened her.

She'd fallen violently in hate, and more than anything was alarmed to find the physical symptoms so similar to those inspired commonly by love.

Since coming home, all she could think of was what he'd said to her in those few hours and how he'd sat at the edge of the oasis, so still and so serene despite having murdered someone.

Her head throbbed and her face burned and her pulse raced. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She couldn't get thoughts of him out of her head.

There was a thin line between love and hate, was there?

She wanted to smack whoever took the idea out of context. The prospect of this odious, abhorring emotion festering into something insane like affection was beyond ridiculous.

Just a reason—that's all she needed. He just had to give her a legitimate reason to cross the border, and she'd kill him. Knowing his kind, she was positive the chance would come soon.

At no point did the realization that her thoughts were spiraling out of control dawn on her.

At the academy, she was taught that shinobi were to always be emotionless and calculating—never should they let emotions like love and hate cloud their judgment.

Temari was an exemplary shinobi, but she was beyond trying to stifle the hate. This was a personal matter, one that buried the teachings and ideologies she lived by.

The Akatsuki had almost robbed her of her only remaining family, and as far as she was concerned, she had every damn right to hate them. And now that one of them was on her doorstep, the opportunity for revenge and self-satisfaction was too enticing to resist.

_Every night, _she thought, struck with a sudden bout of anticipation. _Every night, I'll be ready for him. Just a reason, that's all I need. Just a reason, and this will all be over._

As she thought about it, she found herself relaxing, her pulse slowing and shoulders slackening in relief. Leaning back against her pillows, she closed her eyes and fell asleep within minutes.

Some time after, as her fingers curled into fists against the sheets, she dreamt of a crow eating strips of glistening red meat off a silver platter.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent like all the others, normal despite the anticipation that simmered beneath her calm façade. At one point during dinner, Kankuro asked her why she seemed so detached.

"I'm just tired," she'd replied vaguely, before disappearing into her room to wait out the hours.

When the time finally came and she was riding her fan towards the border on chilled gusts of wind, her determination soared. Her eyes watered in the wind but she didn't blink, her limbs were taut with anticipation and pent-up energy, and there was the reassuring weight of her fan and weapon-laded pack against her back.

She felt like she could take on a hundred of him and win.

When the others arrived after her she radioed them all, telling them to keep their posts until further notice. There would be no switching until he was gone.

Licking her lips, Temari settled down on the sand by her torch, staring intently at the red circles of light cast by the two flares she'd thrown. A sharp gust of wind made her squint and ruffled the surface of the oasis, the ripples reflecting glints of crimson light.

As she stared at the water, she wondered how much blood he'd drowned in the dark depths, wondered just how much blood he'd taken and diffused into obscurity.

_Whose was it? How many? How many people are in there, you asshole?_

She was vaguely aware that her pulse was racing and stomach twisting into knots.

Steadying herself, she waited, breathing deeply to slow her racing pulse. The first two hours passed alarmingly fast, and when she checked her watch and found it blinking 2:00 AM at her, a wave of nausea swept over her.

The anticipation was so great that for a moment she felt ill, half-tempted to abandon her post so she could get a hold of herself and half-tempted to scale the border and root him out herself.

True hatred? _This_ had to be true hatred, where excitement reigned in place of dread, where her stomach fluttered and heart raced and cheeks flushed, where she was eager for him to arrive, eager for him to do something so _she _could do something.

_Hate at first sight_, she thought sardonically, her inner voice keening is falsetto. _So passionate. So overwhelming. So _intense_. I hear your voice before I go to sleep. I want to touch you just so I can hurt you. I can't stop thinking about you because I keep fantasizing about the best way to kill you. Oh, baby, please come back. I'm so in hate with you._

The wind seemed to howl in laughter, whipping the shawl back from her face. Temari laughed with it.

"What the hell are you laughing at, heathen?"

The grin on her face vanished instantly, and her eyes widened when she glanced down and found him standing there in the light of the flares, head cocked to the side and arms crossed over his chest.

Cursing under her breath, Temari berated herself for letting him catch her off guard for the second night in a row.

"Oh, I get it," he said, sounding amused when she didn't reply. "You're just happy to see me."

For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to respond, her initial shock waning into disbelief at his audacity. But then, Temari of the Sand wasn't known for meekness, and she recovered a moment later.

"Ecstatic," she sneered. "Just _delighted_."

Even though she couldn't see his face clearly from where she sat, she could feel him grinning.

"You Suna nins are something, seriously. Those Leaf nins would have shit their pants by now."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Can't take a compliment, can you?"

"I don't want anything from you."

"Aren't you guys supposed to switch posts or something? Or do you keep coming back because you like watching me bathe?" he asked. "Fucking pervert."

"I keep coming back," Temari said coolly. "Because I'm waiting for you to give me a reason to kill you."

"It must be painful, me being so close and you not being able to do jack shit about it," he drawled, gesturing to the short distance between them.

"You'll give me the opportunity," Temari responded confidently. "Soon enough."

He laughed.

"I'm not gonna do anything."

"You will."

"You say that like you want me to, or something."

_I do_, Temari thought inwardly. _You have no idea how badly I do._

"I know your kind," she said shortly, and left it at that.

"Yeah, well, you can go ahead and freeze your ass off waiting for me to do something," he said indifferently, removing his scythe and letting it drop to the sand. "I've got things to do."

Somehow, she felt colder just by watching him bathe, huddling closer to the torch as he calmly rubbed cold sand over the blood and rinsed off the dust with ice-cold water.

_Another one drowned, _Temari thought blankly, watching the rippling surface of the water. _Another one—and the bastard's still happy about it._

When he finished and moved back to sit cross-legged on the sand, Temari shivered, wondering how he could withstand the cold on his wet skin.

He suddenly glanced up, and she blinked when he spoke.

"I asked for her name this time," he said casually. "It was Mai. Someone you know?"

Temari stared at him, momentarily speechless.

_Oh God I hate you you son of a bitch I hate you I hate you I hate you fuck this border I just want to make you bleed—_

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, silencing the chaos in her head, and then opened them again to stare down at him

"You're demented," she said simply.

"And you're a bitch," he replied. "We both win."

She twitched.

"You—"

"Later," he interrupted, lowering his head towards the object in his hands. "I need to pray, first."

Temari fell silent.

Normally, she wouldn't take talk like that sitting down. But the only reason she restrained herself was the presence of the cloak.

He was from the Akatsuki, and from everything Suna's allies in Konoha had told her, they were considered the most dangerous shinobi on the continent. The cloak was a symbol of that.

She wanted desperately to kill him, but she wasn't stupid enough to heedlessly provoke him. Despite having so far neglected protocol and the ideologies she'd followed her whole life, she wasn't about to give up the practice of killing in stealth.

Missing nins were at their most dangerous when angry.

It was best to play along at this point.

Calmed by her reasoning, Temari relaxed, leaning back against the base of the torch again.

Almost two hours passed in silence, and at some points she found herself pinching her arm just to keep her eyes open. Under the warmth of the torch and her comfortable seat in the sand, it was difficult to stay focused.

And to her chagrin, he did absolutely nothing to warrant suspicion, turning the object in his hands—a rosary, she guessed—every so often, and nothing more.

He didn't even bother looking up whenever she tossed a new flare.

When he finally moved, the sky had lightened to its usual metallic blue, and the last flares had burned themselves out. Twin columns of smoke rose on either side of him, spiraling lazily into the sky.

As the smoke became visible, disappointment and dismay took over. She leaned forward, clenching a fistful of sand as he calmly got to his feet and took his things.

_Not yet_, she thought, mind racing_. Don't leave yet, you bastard. Do something. Do something so I can get rid of you_.

Slowly, deliberately, he stretched his arms over his head, fingertips inches from the enormous weapon strapped to his back.

_Do it_, she wanted to hiss, her grip growing sweaty on the frame of her fan. _Draw it. Throw it. Do something!_

To her utter dismay, however, he remained true to his word.

He let his arms flop lazily back to his sides and glanced up at the sky, looking utterly content with watching it lighten as Temari dug her heels into the sand and seethed.

She had let her eagerness show and he'd noticed. And now he was mocking her.

Every gesture was purposely innocent, every word deliberately serene and amiable—vestiges of the crow's trickiness. He was trying to provoke _her_, frustrate her to the point of impatience, irritate her to the point of irrationality—doing it all discreetly to draw her out.

He was taunting her and his attempts were working.

The hatred boiled up and overflowed, flooding her mouth, clouding her eyes, tightening her throat till all she could do was fight to breathe and glare at him through a red miasma.

If he wanted to make this into a game, there was no way in hell she'd let herself lose.

Two of the things she prided herself on were her level-headedness and self-control. She refused to let herself fall prey to his tactics. As she contemplated this, a contemptuous smirk curved her lips.

_Think you can break me? Give me your best shot, you fucker. This game is mine._

Her watch flashed 4:30 AM.

The sky lightened further and he turned his head to look at her, visibly smiling.

_The crow hides a black nature behind a pretty face._

A gust of wind blew the shawl from over her head and sent it careening onto the sand behind her, going unnoticed as she leaned forward and stared back, tense and flushed and waiting.

The clouds darkened from cold, metallic blue into a vivid magenta, growing brighter with every passing minute. Neither of them paid attention to the spectrum of colours fading and appearing overhead, both waiting for more light, more exposure, and more clarity.

_The crow's a carrion-eater. But this one's dangerous. This one's a predator._

He blinked and his smile widened when the glowing, fiery halo of the sun peeked over the horizon enough to highlight her features, revealing cold, dark eyes and a venomous smile.

_Surprised?_ Temari thought, watching him unwaveringly. _I could say the same about you._

She hadn't expected such a youthful face with that silver hair, especially one so capable of wearing such an innocent expression.

Pretty face, indeed.

Temari finally broke the silence, voice scathing.

"What? Were you expecting something different?"

His grin widened and he gestured flippantly to his hair.

"I pictured you as a brunette, seriously."

"Disappointed?"

"Nah," he said, still wearing that infuriating grin. "Blondes are more fun."

The saying was common, common enough for her to ignore its unsavoury connotations. But coming from him, it almost made her feel violated.

"What about you?" she said with a smirk. "Do the drapes match the carpet?"

He raised his eyebrows at that and she congratulated herself for catching him off guard, but the victory was short-lived.

He took a step forward and smirked.

"If you're that curious, come and take a look for yourself."

She was glad he was standing too far away to notice how red her face had become. But despite her vibrant blush burning her cheeks, she wasn't about to let him win.

"With a mouth like that, it's hard to believe you're a man of faith."

"With a mouth like that, it's hard to believe you're a girl."

"What can I say? We Suna nins are something."

Her shift was ending soon. A bead of sweat ran down her temple.

_Do something, you bastard. Don't make me wait another day._

He seemed to sense what she was thinking, and her eyes widened when he turned his head.

"I seriously need some fucking sleep," he announced. "I'll see you tomorrow, Blondie. Don't miss me too much."

This time, Temari couldn't think of a response, staring at him wordlessly as he departed with a jaunty wave, disappearing over the sand dunes.

Twenty minutes later, the jounin that arrived to take her post found the torch snapped in half.

* * *

She dreamed again.

This time, the crow and the silver platter of meat were on her windowsill. Incorporeal, she watched from her bed, wide-eyed as it casually devoured each strip of glistening flesh.

Then, once there was nothing but a bloody smear left on the platter, the crow turned and wiped its beak on her white curtains.

When Temari woke, she bolted upright and almost gasped in relief to find her curtains billowing in the breeze, unblemished.

Unable to go back to sleep, she threw off her covers and stood, pacing the room with her glaring eyes focused on the floor.

_I never should have let him known, _she thought furiously. _I never should have let on that I was waiting for something. Now the bastard's getting off on mocking me._

How long would she have to deal with his presence? How long could she go on withstanding the burning feeling that pressed down on her and filled her with poisonous thoughts of hate and violence?

Somewhere in the back recesses of her mind, a calm voice told her she was losing it.

Never had anyone frazzled her like this. Never had anyone invaded her thoughts and dreams and made her feel sick to her stomach. Never had she felt the urge to discard her fan and kunai, and murder someone with her bare hands.

"Breathe," she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples as she paced. "This is what the asshole wants. Calm, stay calm."

Something was off with the way he'd been behaving lately. The first time they'd met, he'd come off as a short-tempered, violent asshole.

But now? Now he was just obnoxious. Something must have put him in a good mood.

With this in mind, she calmed down slightly.

Seeing as how he was in a good mood, he was harder to provoke. But given his short-tempered, unpleasant nature, those good days must have been scarce.

Slowly, a smile spread over her face.

Good things never lasted, especially not for missing nins. He'd give in to his murderous nature and do something eventually. All he required was the right provocation.

She knew she was endangering herself with this mindset, reminding herself that she had no idea what his abilities were. She knew she was neglecting every lesson she'd learned in the academy. But she could no longer bring herself to give a damn.

_This is my terrain_, she thought vehemently, pacing again. _I'll have the advantage. And he looks like a long-range type fighter. Weapons like that, no matter how big they are, are useless against wind. I'll kill him. I'll kill him. I'll—_

"Jeez, are you trying to pace a hole in the floor?"

Temari glanced up sharply, finding a groggy, squinting Kankuro standing near the door.

"Oh," she said blankly. "Hey."

"Hey," he returned, scratching his head. "You okay?"

Temari plastered on a smile and nodded, and it must have looked alarming because his eyes widened and he made a face.

"You've been acting weird, Temari. It's the PMS again, isn't it?"

Her face reddened.

"No, you idiot. I just…can't sleep."

He nodded sympathetically.

"Is everything all right at the border?"

Temari only stared at him.

"Temari?" he prompted, raising a brow.

"Yeah," she said loudly. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"You know you suck at lying," he said, rolling his eyes. "What, are the others pissing you off? Lazy bastards…"

Temari nearly wilted to the bed in relief.

"Yeah," she said, calmer now. "And the cold's been getting to me, so…"

"I can talk to Gaara about switching your shift—"

"No!" she shouted, and then almost instantly flushed, looking embarrassed when he stared at her in shock.

"I mean…leave Gaara alone. He's been busy enough as it is. And I'll get used to it, so don't worry."

"Okay," he said uncertainly, giving her a peculiar look. "Just don't push yourself."

"Right," she said faintly, smiling at his back when he turned and left.

Her smile faded as she heard his footsteps going down the stairs, and a minute later, she grabbed her fan and spent the rest of the day working off the barely-contained fury poisoning her system.

That night, just hours before departing, she settled down with her dinner and watched an old, late-night romance flick on TV.

And near the end, when a misdemeanor with the law resulted in the lover losing his beloved to a stray arrow, she did nothing but laugh.

* * *

"Where are you, lover?" Temari muttered, recounting the idiotic, besotted actress's dialogue. "It's not like you to make me wait."

Sitting in the sand, twirling a flare, Temari waited for him to arrive, refusing to let her eyes waver from the light of the flares near the oasis.

The irony of her situation became so blatant after watching the movie that she couldn't help but laugh, cynically comparing her circumstances to that of the actress's in the film.

The heroine's love had been from another village, and after a chance meeting near the border (that was where Temari started laughing) they fell hopelessly in love and did dumb shit like meet up in broad daylight so her parents would find out. That led the actor to commit an act of desperation which led to him losing his love forever—tragedy at its purest form.

"Oh, I've been hurt so many times," the actress had declared at their third meeting.

Temari thought of her brothers, one once kidnapped by the Akatsuki and the other once fatally poisoned, and remembered the pain.

"Please promise you'll come back," the actress had begged.

_Come back so I can kill you._

"Despite what my parents say…"

_I don't give a shit about protocol._

"I don't care what happens to me…"

_Hurt me, you bastard. Hurt me so I can hurt you._

"Because I love you."

_I _hate_ you._

When he arrived a few minutes later, Temari almost felt tempted to tell him off for being late.

"Miss me, Blondie?"

Oh, yes, he was in a good mood.

"Like a cold sore," she replied dryly. "What kept you?"

"The crazy bitch _this_ belongs to," he said, gesturing to the bloodstains on his skin. "Seriously, the last ones always give me a hard time."

Temari stared at him, uncomprehending and somewhat sickened by his nonchalance.

All at once, the question of _whose was it_ became irrelevant and all she wanted was to know _why_.

She asked without even being aware of it.

"They're sacrifices," he said, as if it was obvious. "To my God."

"Your last one?" Temari asked blankly.

"For this month," he declared, sounding proud. "In tribute to the advent of Jashin."

Blinking, Temari glanced down at her watch.

2:37 AM JUNE 30.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She'd been stationed at the border for the past three weeks, since the beginning of June. He'd been coming here since then? A chill gripped her as she realized just how many opportunities he must have had to infiltrate the border.

_And this one_, she realized, staring at the bloodstains. _This one was the last. No wonder he's so happy_.

All at once, an intense sense of relief and disappointment flooded her.

There would be no reason for him to come back and the border would be safe.

There would be no reason for him to come back and she would also lose the opportunity for revenge.

Clenching her jaw, she said nothing, not trusting herself to speak.

He took her silence in stride, discarding his cloak as he knelt by the oasis and carried out his cleansing ritual. She watched him attentively, wondering whether this was the last time she'd see him, wondering whether he'd pull through and finally give her a reason to kill him.

As he poured handfuls of water over his neck and shoulders, rinsing away the dusty residue, she finally spoke, keeping her voice carefully detached.

"Why do you come here?"

"Why the hell do you think?"

"Just answer the question."

"For the sand, obviously."

When she said nothing, he heaved an exaggerated sigh before settling back on the sand, his wet skin glistening red in the light of the flares.

"It gets the blood out," he explained. "Water can't do shit on its own."

"Why do you stay?"

"Because this is the only place I can get some fucking peace and quiet," he said, grumbling now. "There's no place in that shithole—" he gestured to River country. "–for a child of God to pray, seriously."

Temari opened her mouth to speak, but froze, eyes widening when she caught sight of the long, black snake slithering silently towards him, attracted to the warmth of the flares.

_A bite could kill in less than ten minutes._

"Hm," Temari managed noncommittally, tensing as the snake paused right next to him, raising its head.

Any sudden movements would elicit an attack. He was completely oblivious.

Her excitement mounted, hope and glee manifesting in a bright smile beneath the shawl.

"But there's one problem with this place," he suddenly drawled, leaning back on his hands. "It's…"

Temari's grin widened when he casually turned his head to the side and caught sight of the snake, trailing off in mid-sentence.

"…all the fucking snakes."

And to her shock, he calmly reached forward and grabbed it by its tail. The snake's reaction was inevitable. Without wasting a second, it surged forward and sank its fangs into his forearm.

Temari almost burst out laughing in triumph.

"Ouch! God dammit," he cursed, reaching blindly for his scythe. "I hate these fucking things."

A moment later, he severed the snake's head from its body and flung both pieces into the oasis, muttering curses and examining his arm.

"Ten minutes," Temari said airily, barely able to contain her glee. "The venom will melt you from the inside out."

"You sound happy about that," he said, sounding remarkably calm as he rubbed the bite. "That hurts my feelings, seriously."

Temari blinked, her smile fading in the slightest when he leaned towards the oasis and dipped his arm into the water, totally calm despite what she'd just told him.

"You're going to die," Temari said flatly, when he withdrew his arm and sat up again, leaning back on his hands.

"I wish it was that easy," he said with a sardonic laugh. "Seriously, that's the second time I got bit by one of those fuckers."

Temari's blood stilled in her veins.

_Second time?_

Only Suna nins had immunity to the venom of those snakes. It should've started working by now.

Astonished, mortified, she stared at him and waited, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles ached.

He couldn't have been a missing nin from Suna. She would have recognized him. And she'd never heard of someone with natural immunity against venomous reptiles. None of it made sense.

"You seem disappointed," he said, sounding amused. "Sorry my insides aren't melting."

"Why aren't you dead?" Temari asked, her voice blank with shock. "The venom…"

"Yeah, you sit there and fret over that," he said dismissively, moving to sit cross-legged. "I need to pray."

Temari said nothing, staring in disbelief as he withdrew his rosary and fell silent.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

Nothing happened.

To say she was disappointed would be an understatement. She was stunned, confused, and unnerved, her mind a chaotic plethora of questions.

_Why? Why? Why? He should be dead. He should be screaming and convulsing and writhing and choking to death on his own blood. He should be, but he's not. Why?_

No sense, Temari thought, wide-eyed as she stared at him. Crows aren't immortal.

Suddenly, she felt afraid. Her grip on the fan grew weak and clammy, fingers trembling against the frame.

All thoughts of revenge were buried under that sudden, vicious onslaught of fear. All she wanted now was for him to leave and never come back. There were no advantages or disadvantages to consider. She couldn't win against the likes of him.

The calm voice in the back of her mind, buried and muffled by fear and self-doubt, whispered comfortingly through the panic.

_Relax. He's just unnerved you. Intimidation only works on the weak. You are not weak._

She latched onto the voice in desperation, repeating its message to herself in a mantra, breathing and clenching fistfuls of sand and willing all the fear away.

Temari of the Sand. She was Temari of the Sand, sister of the Kazekage. She would not be intimidated, especially not by the likes of him.

Gradually, the numbing fear subsided, the chill in her body fading as hate surged forward with a vengeance. It burned worse than before, labouring her breath and quickening her pulse, making the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

In that moment, two hours later when he raised his head and glanced at the lightening sky with a smirk on his lips, Temari knew he'd be back.

He'd found a toy in her, and he wouldn't stop playing until he'd broken her.

_Fine by me,_ Temari thought, licking her lips when he pulled on his cloak. _Play as rough as you like, you fucker. I'll play, too._

She felt no fear or trepidation when he turned to glance at her before leaving—only haughtiness and an intense adrenaline rush.

"Just so you know," she said lightly, her tone betraying none of the preceding fear. "There are things here besides snakes that bite."

As he stood there looking up at her, a grin of amusement curving his lips at the remark, her heart skipped a beat and a bead of sweat ran over her lips beneath the shawl.

Licking the saline drop from her lip, she casually lifted her right hand and gave a little wave goodbye.

* * *

Note: Reviews would be ridiculous amounts of love!


	3. Dancing on a Thin Line

Quotidian

By: firefly

Note: So, so sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I honestly had most of it written out in mid-January, but then a huge writer's block of doom fell on my head and I couldn't string two words together to save my life. XD But I'm back with an update now that it's passed.

Also, a reviewer asked me who exactly Hidan is, since he's a relatively new character. I recommend looking up Wikipedia's article on Hidan, since it has the most information. Lastly, please don't ask if the fic is over at the end of every chapter I post. XD I'll tell you when that happens. Anyway, without further ado, here's chapter 3!

**Dancing on a Thin Line**

She wasn't surprised when she dreamt about the crow again.

This time, the silver platter was clean, gleaming faintly on her windowsill. The crow perched next to it, gazing into her room contemplatively as she watched, still incorporeal, from her bed.

The bloodstain on her curtain had dried and faded to a dirty brown, and for the longest time nothing happened. The crow watched her and she watched the crow. Then, just as she became aware of herself stirring, it hopped off her windowsill and came flapping into her room in a flurry of black feathers, settling on the armrest of the chair across the room.

It cocked its head to the side and she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she found herself falling halfway off the bed with her arms over her face.

Kankuro looked at her in unconcealed worry when, after her 4 PM breakfast, she put the dirty dishes in the fridge and the carton of milk in the sink. She seemed oblivious to his concern and spent the rest of the day training vehemently in the searing desert sun.

A few miles west of where she trained, Gaara sat in a meeting room full of engineers, finalizing the draft plan for the barricades.

* * *

"I thought you said you were done," Temari said impassively, unsurprised when he arrived that night.

"I still need to pray, Blondie," he said with a dismissive wave, plopping down near the oasis. "No rest for the pious, seriously."

Temari observed him silently, finding the pristine, undisturbed surface of the water unusual. He'd finished with his sacrifices. There would be no blood to drown tonight.

The light of the flares was the only thing illuminating the oasis and the surrounding desert, casting an eerie red glow in lieu of the new moon. She watched him fastidiously, taking in his build, taking in every physical feature, contemplating her chances in a fight and mentally executing every possible attack and counter-attack she could think of.

She was faintly surprised when he finished his prayers much earlier than normal, cutting the time by nearly an hour and a half. When Temari glanced at her watch, it was only 2:52 AM.

Wary, she tightened her grip on the fan as he placed his rosary around his neck, adjusting it till he was satisfied.

"Now what?" Temari asked, when his hands returned to his sides.

"What the hell do you mean, 'now what'? I'm done."

"Now what are you going to do?" Temari asked impatiently. "Just sit there?"

"Jeez, what the hell do you want me to do? Dance for you?"

"You could leave and never come back," Temari offered innocently. "That would be great."

"You're a bitch, you know that?"

"And you're an asshole. We both win."

He smirked, leaning back on his hands.

"Admit it, Blondie. You'd be bored out of your mind if I didn't come around. I make your job fun."

"Fun?" Temari echoed blankly. "You think this is fun?"

"Sitting out in the cold all night watching me bathe? Loads of fun."

"You're a member of the Akatsuki," she said icily. "I'd be idiotic to let you out of my sight."

"I told you I'm not gonna do anything," he said, sounding amused. "Really."

"You expect me to believe you?" Temari asked, giving a humourless laugh. "We're ready-to-use sacrifices the moment we let our guard down."

"Look," he said suddenly, sounding irritable as he sat up and crossed his legs. "It's fucking three in the morning. I'm _tired_. I work all day and my job sucks, so when I say I'm out for nothing but a little rest and relaxation, I fucking mean it."

Temari opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off, sounding annoyed.

"So don't think I'm stupid enough to try something. Sacrificing you is totally not worth getting my ass kicked over."

Temari stared at him wordlessly, somewhat surprised by his petulance.

She'd expected emotionless, arrogant, and stoic qualities from the likes of the Akatsuki, not sulkiness. But with those words, he'd instantly broken her perception of them as subhuman creatures, creatures incapable of feeling anything, creatures immune to exhaustion or illness.

They weren't supposed to get tired. They weren't supposed to take a break from being bad. Being bad wasn't a job—it was a lifestyle. It was a _choice_. He had no _right _to rest or relaxation for the things he did.

She felt ill, suddenly, her nausea resurfacing as she recalled the numbness that had gripped her when Kankuro had been poisoned, recalling her rage and fear at the thought of losing him. That was all in a day's work for the likes of him? He wanted a break from that?

Blankly, she lowered her eyes to her fingers, gripping the fan so hard they ached.

_I didn't think it could get any worse_, she thought, staring at him through a glassy, red film, her heart racing. _But this…this is…_

She couldn't finish the thought, coherence decaying beneath the strain to hold back the rage.

"Oh, and, if the reason you're so bitchy is because of that whole deal with the Akatsuki kidnapping your Kazekage, don't blame me. I had nothing to do with that shit," he said offhandedly, glancing off to the side.

"Nothing to do with you," Temari repeated, alarmed at how dull her voice sounded. "Does it matter? You're all the same, so I don't see why you should be excluded."

"Don't put me in the same category as those heathens," he snapped, sounding angry suddenly. "We're nothing alike."

"You're all murderous bastards. There's enough similarity in that alone."

"I have my own reasons for what I do," he retorted. "I might work for them, but I've got my own agenda."

"And what's that?" Temari sneered. "Canonization?"

"Not really, but that wouldn't be too bad," he replied, sounding faintly amused. "Saint Hidan. I like the ring of that. And…shit, I just gave you my name, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

"Whatever. It's in all the fucking bingo books, anyway." He paused. "You're not gonna tell me your name, are you?"

"No."

"Blondie it is, then," he said with a shrug.

Temari bit her lip, narrowing her eyes.

His changes in mood were quick and frequent, she noted, tapping her fingers against the fan. He also seemed rather careless, giving his name away like that, and coming so close to spilling information about the Akatsuki, no less. If goaded, he might even tell her something important.

Licking her lips, she settled back against the base of the torch, gazing at him calmly over the shawl.

"You don't like working for the Akatsuki," she intoned, voicing it as more of a statement than a question.

"Hell no," he said vehemently, spilling fistfuls of sand from one hand into the other. "My boss is the biggest shit head you'll ever meet."

Smirking, she decided to take a slightly more discreet approach rather than asking him outright.

"How are your goals different?"

He paused before looking up at her, sounding vaguely annoyed.

"You're trying to get information from me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Temari said flatly.

"You know, if I actually knew anything, I might actually tell you," he said, sounding contemplative. "But that shit head never tells me anything."

Somehow, judging from his tone, she could tell he was being honest so she didn't press the issue. But his sudden agreeableness had her on edge.

"And why would you tell me anything, at all?" she demanded.

"Just to piss him off," he replied lazily, letting the sand stream back to the ground.

Temari stared at him in disbelief.

"Do you have a death wish?"

The question left her before she could reconsider, and for a few seconds it hung heavily in the still, frigid air.

"Yeah," he finally replied. "I do…but he can't kill me."

She fell silent, gazing at him in confusion and suspicion, feeling unsettled by his words. Again, something about his tone gave no implication of deceit, his words nonchalant and simple, unrehearsed.

But his statements made no sense, she realized. He said he wouldn't attack because he was too weak and tired to fight. But now he claimed that the leader of the continent's most notorious criminal organization couldn't kill him.

A bead of cold sweat ran down the back of her neck.

"What, are you that strong?" she asked, careful to keep her voice blank.

He was grinning when he answered.

"No. Just really, really durable."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I can't die," he said with a derisive laugh.

Temari stared at him uncomprehendingly, momentarily convinced that she'd misheard him.

"You can't die," she repeated, as if waiting for him to correct her.

"That's what I said," he said, smirking cynically. "Death's got a vendetta against me."

Temari could only stare at him, and suddenly, her mouth felt as dry as the desert around her, her throat stinging as she swallowed nothing but cold air. Her heart pounded in her ears, throbbing almost painfully in her chest, her tongue a lead weight in her mouth. More sweat ran down the back of her neck, plastering loose strands of blonde hair to the clammy skin.

Unable to withstand the sensation, she reached up and tore off the shawl, barely able to contain her gasp as chilled wind met with the damp skin.

Is this panic? She thought, wide-eyed and shaking. Disbelief? Both?

_Crows aren't immortal._

"Don't believe me?" he asked casually, leaning back on his hands again. "How the hell do you think I survived those snake bites?"

"There's…a vaccination," Temari managed to croak, appalled at how faint her voice sounded. "You could have…"

"You're being stupid," he said plainly. "Think about it."

"I don't believe you," she said, more for herself than anything else.

_Not true. It can't be true. How can I win, then? How can I defend everyone? It's not possible. No God is cruel enough to give me an enemy who can't die. He has to be lying, he has to—_

The fan sank into the sand, lying on its side as her grip grew limp, her wide eyes focused on its glinting, metal handle.

I'm not like this, she realized in disbelief. I never react like this.

_But you hate this one, remember? _The calm voice in the back of her mind reminded her. _You hate him when shinobi aren't supposed to hate. You're skewed, Temari. You're bent out of shape when it comes to him. _

"Well," he said loudly, when she didn't respond for nearly ten minutes. "Seeing as how I've scared the shit out of you, my work here's done for tonight."

Temari stared at him, wide-eyed and silent as he retrieved his scythe and stood.

"You were thinking you'd kill me one of these days, weren't you?" he asked, sounding complacent. "And all of a sudden I dropped a bomb on your little fantasy."

He laughed. "Sucks to be you."

_Shut up, shut up, shut up—_

"Just sit there and let it marinate for a while," he advised, sounding amused now. "It'll sink in, seriously."

_I hate you, _she wanted to say. _I hate you, you bastard. You're lying. You have to be lying because I have to kill you and I can't kill you if you're telling the truth._

He gave a jaunty little wave and turned to leave.

Temari wanted to scream, but only managed a hoarse "wait."

He glanced back at her over his shoulder.

"Don't come back," she said, finding her voice faint. "Don't ever come back."

"You asked me a question," he said smoothly, his shadow flickering in the dying light of the flares. "About how my goals are different from the Akatsuki's. I'll answer it tomorrow."

She could only mouth wordlessly at his response, staring after him as he departed into the darkness, the flares extinguishing silently behind him.

* * *

She couldn't sleep that night. Fear pressed down at her from all sides, threatening to suffocate her the instant she laid her head upon the pillow. When she got in a mere thirty minutes while slumped against headboard, the dream came to her immediately.

The crow was there on the armrest of her chair, watching her. It cocked its head to the side and suddenly she was flooded with revulsion, unable to withstand its presence any longer. She felt her incorporeal hands grab things, sharp things, and fling them in its direction as hard as she could.

The objects struck it dead on, tearing off chunks of feathers that drifted serenely to the carpet. The bird didn't move, taking the vicious assault complacently, unperturbed by her violence.

Then, as she ran out of things to throw and her invisible arms grew limp from exhaustion, it spread its wings and flew from the chair and onto the hamper at the foot of her bed.

When Temari woke, she found crescent-shaped welts in her arm where she'd dug her nails during the night.

"Something's wrong with you," Kankuro said flatly when she came downstairs, staring at the dark circles under her eyes. "I'm going to talk to Gaara about switching your shift."

"No," she said, staring at him as if he was insane. "You can't."

Kankuro opened his mouth to argue, but she took her breakfast and disappeared into her room.

_You're going crazy, _she told herself calmly once she'd sat down, staring vacantly at her hardly-touched breakfast. _You're acting like how they act…like that actress in that stupid movie. Like you're lovesick. _

"Hatesick," Temari corrected herself aloud, finding the improvised word strange on her tongue. "I'm hatesick."

_You've got it bad, _the calm voice continued as she cut up her breakfast, forcing herself to eat. _You're getting obsessed. _

She grimaced, thinking of the dreams and how she'd never experienced them so consecutively before, thinking of the crow and what it represented. The thought of it gracing her dreams each night was enough to make her nauseous.

Is this why shinobi are supposed to be emotionless when doing their job? She wondered, forcing herself to chew the food. Is it because you'd go insane, otherwise?

The sound of children laughing and playing in the streets outside infiltrated the room through the blinds, snatches of excited shouts drifting up to her window. Temari stared at the window morosely, listening to the laughter. Their carefree happiness was enviable.

As they played and laughed, oblivious to everything but their fun, she stayed in her room and thought, wondering what she could possibly do about the impossible situation she'd found herself in.

Kankuro had been defeated almost instantly by one of them. Even Gaara hadn't been able to hold his own, and he was the Kazekage. In both circumstances, both her brothers had fought only one member.

Now she found herself faced with the same predicament. One of the Akatsuki—an immortal one, to boot—had found his way to the doorstep of her country. He was temperamental, dangerous, and obviously insane—apparently invulnerable to whatever attack she could throw his way.

Quietly, she set aside her plate and stood, wandering over to the window. Sliding the blinds apart, she squinted into the bright sunlight that poured into her room, gazing out at the neighbourhood before lowering her eyes to the playing children on the street below.

Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow. She'd learned that early on in life.

And now, as a faint hint of bitterness lingered on the back of her tongue, she felt a strange, hollow disappointment take over. Simultaneously, all thoughts of defending and revenging became ludicrous, rendered absolutely impossible by the present circumstances.

_The most I can do,_ she realized bitterly, _is try to keep him out. _

The plans for the barricades had been finalized last night. Until their construction was complete—in an estimated month to two months' time—their midnight 'meetings' would just have to continue.

She thought of him—of his obnoxious attitude, habitual cursing and biting sarcasm, and then imagined having to deal with it for the next fifty or so days.

Grimacing, she bowed her head in resignation, letting her forehead drop against the glass with a dull thud.

Do you think about me?she wondered cynically, tracing the grains of sand on her windowsill. Do you think about me the way I think about you?

She stood there, barely listening to the faint shouts and laughter drifting up from the street below, eyes unfocused blankly on the grains of sand. She pictured him in daylight, pictured him amongst a group of shadowy figures, pictured him picturing her and smiling a private, twisted smile of approval at his new toy.

Did you tell the others about me?she wondered, blinking slowly. Or are you keeping me a secret…like how I'm keeping you?

_Secret, _something whispered in the back of her mind. _Nobody likes to share their toys._

The skin on the back of her neck prickled and almost unconsciously she whipped her head around to look at the doorway.

Open. Empty.

Wide-eyed, she wiped her hand over the back of her neck, staring apprehensively at the sweat on her fingers. Her clothes were drenched in perspiration.

Swallowing hard, she strode across the room, grabbing the towel she'd left at the foot of the bed before walking off to the shower. Her breakfast felt like a lead weight in her stomach, her skin breaking out in goose bumps as she undressed and started the shower.

Glancing momentarily at her reflection in the full-length mirror, Temari grimaced at the harrowed look in her eyes.

The water erupted with a hiss and she eagerly stepped in, desperate to get away from her fearful reflection and desperate for the rhythmic beating of the water to drive away the unsettling thoughts.

Shuddering beneath the downpour, she reached for the soap and did everything mechanically, screwing her eyes shut to obliterate the images of him that flitted teasingly across her mind's eye. As soon as she did, however, the serene voice in the back of her mind interjected with a seemingly innocent question.

_What do you think he's doing right now?_

Shuddering once more, she entangled her fingers into her hair, clenching hard and concentrating on the pain that muddled and distorted the calm, disconcerting voice. Breathing hard, Temari opened her eyes partially, squinting down at the soapy water swirling into the drain.

Almost immediately, she pictured herself back at the border, huddled beneath the warmth of the torch and watching him wash away the blood of his sacrifices with a mix of morbid fascination and abhorrence.

Her face burned at the memory, stomach churning as venom flooded every facet of her mind, engulfing all thoughts and questions in a red, noxious haze.

_I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I want to…I just want to—_

"Hurt him," she whispered weakly, screwing her eyes shut. "I want to hurt him. I want…"

The desire to inflict harm was suddenly so strong that her heart ached at his absence, hurting at the thought of having to wait before she could see him again and sate her rage.

Killing him was no longer an option, and in lieu of that her mind and body screamed at her, begging for an opportunity to at least cause him some pain.

Denying herself the chance to hurt him was like a self-inflicted wound in her side, agonizing because she was all too aware of what his cloak signified. Chances were that she would be overpowered. Chances were that he'd kill her should she try anything. Chances were that she'd be throwing her life away if she listened to the primal rage festering within her.

Keep him out, that's it, she told herself breathlessly, pressing her forehead against the cool, wet tiles. Don't do anything stupid, Temari. That's what he wants.

The rage gradually diminished, boiling down to a simmer beneath the surface, leaving her feeling hollow and drained. Her pulse throbbed loudly in her ears, heart aching with the need to see him, pining for the opportunity to inflict harm, craving a legitimate reason to clear the poison flooding her system.

Temari ignored it, subsequently ignoring the hollowness that followed as she forced herself to be calm.

Slowly, she reached for the shower knobs and turned them off, remaining in the stall as the downpour ceased. Listening to the quiet drips in the stall, she breathed, staring ahead at the misty glass of the sliding door.

Unconsciously she reached forward, letting her fingertips rest against the mist.

She would wait out the hours, and then she'd go to the border and do her duty and only her duty. She would keep him out. There would be no provocations or insinuations. She wouldn't let herself lose her head, metaphorically _or_ literally. Calm, she would remain steady and calm.

Temari brought her eyes back into focus once she'd reassured herself, glancing up at the stall door.

A crude outline of a crow gazed back at her from beneath her fingertips.

* * *

1:47 AM.

An anticipatory shudder racked her body, cumulating from the frigid cold and adrenaline rush the rejuvenating injection gave her.

Her breath misted in the air and she momentarily closed her eyes, leaning back against the torch as the injection's effects settled in. The aches in her joints were gradually dispelled, along with the heavy weight on her eyelids. Her shoulders hunched with a jerk beneath the shawl, the muscles twitching as electric warmth shot up her spine.

Within minutes, her exhaustion was gone. Feeling more rejuvenated than she had all day, she opened her eyes, lowering them to the syringe she held in her right hand.

"Quick fix," she muttered, stashing it in her shoulder bag. "Can't get too used to it…"

Too many doses would eventually have a detrimental effect on the body. If she wasn't careful, she could find herself addicted. But the mere thought of trying to get more sleep at home elicited a sense of foreboding, presenting the question of how close the crow would get the next time she closed her eyes.

Temari narrowed her eyes in self-reproach, idly tapping her finger against the sharp point of the kunai she held. Part of her was disgusted for feeling so apprehensive about the consecutive, unsettling dreams, but she couldn't help but shudder at the memory of the carrion bird's black, gnarled feet tainting whatever and wherever they perched on.

Shaking her head, she lowered her eyes to the light of the flares that burned brightly near the oasis, the light unusually intense at the absence of wind.

Something akin to excitement played in the pit of her stomach, and she found herself absentmindedly rubbing her sweaty palms against her pants, swallowing frigid air on a parched throat.

_Duty, _she reiterated to herself. _Do your duty and keep him out. Nothing else._

But she still slid her fingers around the hilt of the kunai, keeping her other hand on the frame of her fan.

When he arrived eight minutes later she said absolutely nothing, momentarily rendered speechless by the nervous jolt in the pit of her stomach. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on the fan, dragging it closer as he stood there, removing his scythe.

Wordlessly, he let it drop to the sand before taking a seat next to it, never looking her way.

Temari watched him, a wry smirk twisting her lips as he withdrew his rosary, settling down to pray without even glancing in her direction.

He wanted to play a game, did he? Get her to talk first? He was even more childish than she'd previously thought.

Crossing her arms, she settled back against the torch complacently, waiting out the hour in silence.

The desert was silent save for the faint crackling of the wooden torches, the flames fluid and upright in the still air, resembling a row of candles in a bed of sand. She never moved her gaze from his still form, never turning her head to glance at the other patrollers.

Encompassed in surrounding darkness, under the warm light of her single torch and between the short distance that separated them, she felt like they were the only two living things in the desert—both silent and straddling an invisible boundary buried beneath a mile of sand, both playing a silent game of _bet-you'll-talk-first_, both well-aware of who had the advantage should either of them choose to cross that boundary.

She watched and waited, unwavering as her watch relayed the passing hour, reacting only when she saw him lift the rosary and place it back around his neck.

Tensing, she sat up as his arms drifted back to his sides and he finally tilted his head up to look at her.

Another shudder worked its way through her body as she gazed back, her sweating fingers leaving a misty trail on the metal frame of her fan.

He broke the silence first, his casual words masking an undertone of amusement.

"Didn't think you'd be back."

Temari stared at him, unsure of whether she was smirking or grimacing when she answered.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugged.

"Figured you wouldn't after I scared you shitless yesterday."

Temari narrowed her eyes, her voice growing icy.

"You caught me off guard, that's all." She paused, tone growing sardonic. "It's not often you come across a person who can't die, after all."

"No shit," he drawled, stretching his arms before clasping his hands behind his head, dropping backwards into the sand. "What's your plan now, since you can't kill me?"

"I'm just here to do my duty," she replied steadily. "And keep you outside the border."

"I told you three fucking times I'm not gonna do anything."

"And nothing you say will make me believe you."

He didn't reply for a few seconds, staring up at the dark, star-dotted sky in silence.

"And what if I'm lying?" he asked suddenly, almost placidly. "Let's say I do cross the border. What'll you do then?"

Temari stared at him, a bolt of sharp, ice-cold fear raking down her spine, eliciting a barrage of goose bumps. She tightened her sweaty grip on the fan, forcing herself to keep her composure as she leaned forward.

_Duty first. Don't provoke him. Don't insinuate anything. Duty first. _

"If you do that," she replied calmly. "I'll just have to stop you."

"Think you can?"

"If I have to," she said shortly, amazed with herself for keeping her voice so steady when her heels were digging into the sand and the kunai trembled uncontrollably in her grip.

"You'll try to kill me the second I give you a chance," he continued calmly, voicing it as more of a statement than a question.

"I will," she agreed, recalling their conversation from the night before. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He chuckled at her reply, raising his head slightly to look up at her.

"I'd _love_ it, seriously."

She wasn't sure whether her cheeks burned as a side-effect of the injection or out of feeling somewhat violated. Something about his voice had the uncanny ability to simultaneously mock her while casually answering a question at the same time. It irked her.

"But I've got shit luck," he suddenly intoned, lowering his head back onto his clasped fingers. "Nobody can kill me."

Temari sneered, her voice scathing.

"So why don't you do everyone a favour and just kill yourself?"

He didn't reply and the cruel words hung heavily in the air, every mental echo stretching her smirk wider. A month ago, perhaps she would've felt guilty for saying something so harsh. But now, instead of feeling shame and regret, she basked in a well of grim satisfaction, watching his still form with cold, narrowed eyes.

_Aww, _she cooed inwardly, her inner voice keening in falsetto. _Did I hurt your feelings? I hope so, you sick bastard._

"Tried that. Doesn't work."

Temari blinked, starting at the sound of his flat voice.

"Tried what?" she asked blankly before she could stop herself. "Killing yourself?"

"Every way, you name it. Nothing works."

She blinked again, somewhat unsettled by his laidback attitude before staring down at him in scorn.

"How's that work? You've got no free will over your immortality?"

"Guess you could say that."

Temari smirked, twirling the kunai between her fingers. Duty first, of course. That implied not talking to him unless necessary. But she couldn't resist the opportunity to return the mockery he'd mercilessly inflicted upon her in the past week.

"I doubt it," she said, tone flippant. "You're probably not doing it right."

He lifted his head slightly to look up at her.

"Are you trying to give me _advice_?"

"Guess you could say that," she parroted, grinning now. "Why not, when you dying will make us both happy."

He feigned an injured tone, moving his hand to rest over his heart.

"That's harsh, seriously. I think that might've done it if I actually gave a shit about what you thought."

Temari shrugged, unperturbed by his biting sarcasm.

"I figured you'd appreciate some advice, since you can't seem to kill yourself properly on your own."

He laughed, the sound sharp and humourless in the frigid air.

"Think you can do better? Go ahead, hit me."

"Hanging," Temari suggested promptly, picking the first thing that came to mind. "Quick. No mess."

"Tried that," he snorted. "Fucking broke my neck, too. Didn't work."

"Poison," she continued without hesitance, her tone carrying a casualness suited for table talk. "Drug overdose."

"I could drink a gallon of bleach and it won't do shit," he replied wryly. "Seriously, there's no point in—"

"Drowning," she interrupted, mind racing with every method of suicide she'd ever heard of. "Asphyxiation."

"Been there, done that."

"Decapitation."

"Hurt like a motherfucker, seriously."

"You survived decapitation?" she asked, voice blank with disbelief.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I don't believe you."

"Like I give a shit. What do you want? A demonstration?"

Temari hesitated only momentarily, eyes widening as her hand brushed over her shoulder bag.

"Exploding notes," she said slowly, recalling the bundle she'd stashed in the bag.

He stared up at her from where he lay on the sand, momentarily silent.

The confidence that suddenly flourished within her elicited a bright smile, voice holding a genuine tone of earnestness as she described it, picturing an instantaneous death with no chance of survival. She didn't give herself the time to feel disturbed by her own enthusiasm.

"You can't tell me you've tried that. There's no chance you'd survive if they were strapped to your body. The proximity of the explosion would blow you to pieces—"

"Which is why I'm not stupid enough to try it," he interrupted.

Temari stared at him, her upper lip curling into a sneer.

"Why? Are you afraid?"

He sat up abruptly and her hands instinctively flew to her fan, tensing so suddenly her fingers seized on the metal frame. He sat there with his arms limp by his sides, looking up at her in silence.

_Don't provoke him, _she reminded herself, her heart racing. _Watch your mouth, Temari._

He watched her for a few more seconds before turning his head to the side, sneering in contempt.

"Only heathens would be afraid."

When she didn't reply, he continued, batting absentmindedly at the sand in front of him.

"If I didn't think it'd leave me alive and useless in a hundred fucking pieces, I'd have done it by now."

Temari swallowed, not trusting herself to speak as a shiver ran down her spine. Without even trying, he reminded her of just how futile any of her tactics would be, ruthlessly destroying all hope she had of defending her country and herself.

It was like a slap in the face.

Subdued, she sank back against the torch, glaring tiredly down at him from over the shawl.

The flare lying a few feet to his left began sputtering, the light flickering sporadically and distorting his shadow against the sand. Wordlessly, she withdrew another one and lit it, tossing it close to the first. He paid no attention to it, choosing to flop back down on the sand, folding his hands behind his head.

She watched him, vaguely perturbed by whatever had elapsed.

Prior to meeting him, she'd pictured the Akatsuki as a group of soulless, unfeeling cretins, as animalistic, instinctual beings, strangers to altruism, beings exempt from fears or desires concerning things besides materialistic gain. That's all they wanted, wasn't it? Power? Influence?

He'd broken that perception within an hour after first meeting her.

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, tracing circles in the sand at her feet as she contemplated his words.

_They're sacrifices to my God._

Unselfish. Serving a higher purpose.

_Don't put me in the same category as those heathens._

Disassociation.

_I might work for them, but I've got a different agenda._

Goals beyond materialistic gain.

_Death's got a vendetta against me._

…why?

His apparent immortality and unsettling desire for death was what skewed her perspective of them the most. Her view of the idealistic, power-hungry sociopath was turned on its head, her opinions shaken, her thoughts rendered ambiguous.

What was he after? Why the desire to die? Why did she even care?

_Keep your friends close,_ she thought faintly, recalling the unwritten rule every Suna jounin resided by. _But keep your enemies closer._

Thirty days or more—the amount of time she was liable to find herself spending in his company, the amount of time he'd have to infiltrate the border before the barricades went up. Thirty days or more she'd have to keep him out. Thirty days or more she'd have to be alert and ready, wary of the slightest cause for concern, prepared to fight to the death.

She had thirty days or more to get to know him, to memorize his habits and moods, to understand what angered him, interested him, and drove him to do what he did.

Temari swallowed, finding her throat parched as she gazed down at his still form, hesitating.

Thirty days or more to satisfy her own fascination with the man who'd invaded her every thought in every breathing moment.

She took a deep breath.

"Why die at all?" she asked suddenly, her voice wavering only slightly. "Why not live forever?"

He didn't bother looking at her this time, keeping his eyes trained on the star-ridden sky.

"Why would you?" he retorted, voice bitter. "In this world of shit."

Temari stared, surprised by his rancour.

"What's so bad about it?" she continued after a moment, somewhat calmer now. She watched him unwaveringly as he remained silent, her grip relaxing on the frame of her fan.

"Even a jackass could answer that," he muttered after a moment. "The world's full of nothing but godless heathens."

She thought for a moment, drudging up as much knowledge as she could about the ideals and practices of common religions. Spreading the Word, converting heathens—wasn't that a key precept in most religions?

"So why don't you do your part and convert them?" she asked, her tone more wry than intended. "Isn't it your job to—"

"I've done enough," he snapped suddenly, abruptly sitting up again. "I've done more than I fucking have to. But I still…"

He trailed off suddenly and Temari stared at him, wide-eyed and tense as she clutched her fan, wary even as he turned his head, sucking his teeth in resignation.

"But you still what?" she asked after a moment, tensing again as he turned his head to look at her.

"What's with all the questions, all of a sudden?" he demanded.

Temari narrowed her eyes in annoyance, fighting to keep her voice calm as she answered.

"You're the one who said you'd tell me about how your goals are different from the Akatsuki's."

"Not much to say," he muttered, flicking sand from his cloak. "They want power. I want to finish my mission and get the hell out of here."

When he didn't continue, Temari felt her patience wane and chanced a glance at her watch.

3:32 AM.

"You've got an hour and a half," she said impatiently, leaning forward. "So…care to elaborate?"

He smirked, turning his head up to look at the sky again.

"Do you believe in God?"

Unconsciously, Temari found herself following his gaze, raising her eyes to the vast blackness overhead, speckled with a bright array of stars. For a moment, she just took the time to look at them, unable to recall the last time she had the time to appreciate the familiar constellations.

Her eyes flitted immediately to the arrangement of stars she'd been observing since childhood, recognizing the shape and smiling slightly at the memory of naming it with Kankuro. The sparkling lights formed an instantly recognizable object. A silver hammer.

Silver, she mused, because that was the only thing she could relate the sparkling of the stars to when she'd been little.

It looked exactly as it had when she was seven years old.

An odd feeling crept over her, raising goose bumps on her arms. In the darkness, in this silence, she felt the constellation become so distinct it seemed able and threatening to fall from the sky, an enormous silver hammer crafted from stars and black space, bound together by a force beyond nature and coincidence. She lowered her eyes, blinking at the sight of him staring at her expectantly.

The constellations were too cyclical to be coincidence, and she was all too aware of who she'd been praying to when her brothers had teetered on the brink of death, only months before.

"Yes," she finally answered, a closed expression overtaking her features.

He regarded her silently for a moment before leaning back on his hands, sounding complacent as he spoke.

"He knows it, too," he said, tilting his head up in a vague gesture. "He knows the world's full of shit. It's a test to see who pulls through and who doesn't, to see who comes out dirty or clean."

Temari listened attentively, unconscious of the way she was biting her lip raw.

"But the thing is, no one cares anymore. Nobody gives a shit about anything besides money and fucking. Everything's gone to hell." He paused. "Everyone's dirty."

"Not everyone," Temari said, remembering the monks she'd encountered en route to Konoha. "Some people still…"

He made a sound of derision in his throat, waving a hand dismissively.

"Lost cause," he said. "They're getting nowhere trying to redeem the heathens. Like I said, everything's gone to shit. There's no changing that."

"So what, then?" Temari asked blankly. "You're saying to leave them that way?"

"Hell no. I'm saying it's too late for repentance. I'm saying that if things change, they'll only get shittier, so we might as well put an end to things now," he said, a note of excitement creeping into his voice.

Temari stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Put an end to things?"

"Everyone's overdue for judgment," he declared, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. "The purpose of Jashin is to hurry it along."

Cold perspiration beaded on her skin, the question forcing its way out of her throat despite her already knowing the answer.

"How?"

He smirked.

"How do you think?"

She pictured him from a few nights ago, calmly cleansing away the blood of girls she didn't know the names of, girls who probably didn't deserve the fate they inevitably ended up meeting. She pictured him praying, serene with the burdensome weight of murder lifted from his shoulders and drowned within the oasis, embellished with the name of _sacrifice_.

Temari couldn't bring herself to speak, suddenly more afraid than she'd ever felt in his presence.

"We kill them," he said, voice escalating in excitement. "We'll keep killing them till there's nobody left. It's my job to make sure everyone receives judgment; that's my mission. I'll live until I satisfy Jashin-sama, until He's satisfied with my service. Then…" he paused, almost breathless with yearning.

"I'll be able to die."

Temari stared at him, fear and loathing pressing down on her throat, strangling her words on their way out.

"Haven't you done enough?" she managed to croak, aghast.

How many are in there? She thought, eyes darting over to the oasis. How many did you…

"If I'd done enough, I wouldn't be here right now," he retorted, sounding annoyed.

_I've done more than I fucking have to. But I still…_

Temari suddenly felt nauseous. Unconsciously, she brought the fan into her lap, fingers curving tightly over the metallic frame as she stared at him, mind racing.

He's insane. I can't let someone like that over the border. Not ever. He's wrong. He's crazy. I can't win against the likes of him. He's _wrong_.

"So if you come up with an interesting way for me to kill myself, let me know," he said sardonically. "Because seriously, I've tried everything."

He paused momentarily as she remained silent, staring at her before a slow smirk curved his lips.

"And if you think you can kill me…go ahead and try. I've got a good feeling about you."

Temari found herself rendered speechless for the second night in a row, unable to form words as her mind screamed at her, seething at the sight she took in through blank, unblinking eyes.

_Oh please, hurt him. Just once. Just try. Only once. Hurt him, please. At least once._

But then her eyes would fall upon his cloak, jolting sense into her rage-addled mind, reminding her who he was, who she was, and telling her, repeatedly and desperately, that she'd never stand a chance.

_I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU—_

The flare began to sputter and he lazily turned his head to glance at it. Calmly, he got to his feet, dragging his scythe up with him.

Temari watched, unable to say anything as he strapped it to his back and turned to glance up at her listless form in the sand.

So close…someone able to justify his reason for murder without guilt, without remorse, with passion. Someone like him was so close, physically and mentally, the cadence of his voice replaying itself in a never-ending echo in the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts in every waking moment.

Without even being aware of it, she found herself standing, clutching the fan by her side.

A few steps. That's all it would take.

_Hurt him, please. Just once. At least once. _

Feeling empowered was what she expected out of the abhorring, vicious emotion flooding her in that moment. Feeling unstoppable was what she'd pictured every time she played this scenario out in her head.

The last thing she expected was to feel sick with rage.

A moment later, the fan fell from her limp fingers, landing with a muffled thump in the sand.

He smiled before turning to leave.

"Sweet dreams, Blondie."

* * *

Hours later, after her shift ended and she found herself back in front of her house, it was with a mechanical, jilted air that she opened the door. She slowly made her way through the dark hallway to the kitchen. The house was silent save for the gentle humming of electric appliances, the interior faintly illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming in through the windows.

Stopping at the cabinet nearest to the pantry, she pulled it open and dug out a bottle of sleeping pills.

They were Gaara's. The dose was prescribed specifically for him to help with the insomnia.

Wordlessly, she shook two pills out onto her palm (half of one would have sufficed), wanting the guarantee of a senseless, dreamless sleep. She wanted oblivion.

Swallowing them together with a glass of water, she set down the glass and made her way over to the living room, pulling off her coat and shawl along the way, letting them drop carelessly to the floor.

She curled up on the sofa, flicking on the TV, wide, glazed eyes taking in the pictures that flashed on the screen.

Something akin to a sob and a laugh caught in her throat when she recognized the pictures as the same romantic film she'd watched the other night.

Within minutes, the sleeping pills began to take effect, and she continued watching despite the blood collecting in the sclera of her eyes.

The heroine pined and waited for her beloved. The hero couldn't stop fantasizing about her in return. A passionate kiss and embrace was shared every so often. The climax of their passion came when they made love.

Formula. Step-by-step.

Tension, build-up, climax, afterglow.

Temari swallowed thickly, eyes sliding closed as she inwardly compared the cycle of love to what she felt, experiencing a vague sense of complacency as she drew up the parallels. She wouldn't remember the disconcerting and overwhelming urge to laugh and cry when she'd wake the next day.

Love.

Sweat, semen, saliva.

Hate.

Blood, vomit, tears.

I can't get thoughts of you out of my mind. I want to touch you, please you, pleasure you. I want you in my bed. I want us together; me over you, you over me. I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear you beg for more. I can feel the blood rushing. I can feel the heat rising. I want your nails in my back and I want us to come together. Say _yes_, say _more_, never stop begging.

I can't get thoughts of you out of my mind. I want to cut you, bruise you, pain you. I want you in the dirt. I want us together; me over you and you pinned beneath. I want to hear you cry my name. I want to hear you beg for mercy. I can feel the blood rushing. I can feel the heat rising. I want my nails in your face and I want us to scream together. Say _no_, say _stop_, never stop begging.

Tell me when it feels good. Tell me when you're close. I want to see the look on your face when it happens—when the ecstasy becomes strongest and you forget to breathe.

Tell me when it hurts most. Tell me when it becomes too much. I want to see the look on your face when it happens—when the agony becomes strongest and you cease to breathe.

I want to lie next to you afterwards. I want to kiss you and tell you, lover, that I'm glad we're together. Between the sweat and the warmth and the sheets, I want us to bask in the afterglow.

I want to lie next to you afterwards. I want to spite you and tell you, hater, that I'm glad we're together. Between the blood and the cold and the tattered cloth, I want to bask in the afterglow.

And even though you already know it, darling, I want to tell you I love you.

And even though you already know it, darling, I want to tell you I hate you.

* * *

Note: I will love you forever should you take the time to review!


	4. Harmony in Discord

Quotidian

By: firefly

Note: Thank you to everyone for being so patient, and thanks again for the lovely, encouraging reviews! You have no idea how much I appreciate the feedback. (loves)

A couple of reviewers asked me what the word _quotidian _means. Well, to borrow dictionary dot com's definition:

_-adjective_

1. daily

2. usual or customary

3. ordinary: commonplace

_-noun_

4. something recurring daily

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this installment! And to those who are wondering—yes, this fic is going somewhere plot-wise, trust me. There are probably two chapters left to go. Also, I'll reiterate: this fic is NOT a romance, so really, don't expect/ask for lemons when it's obvious there'll be none. XD

* * *

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Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love.

- George Eliot

* * *

**Harmony in Discord **

Her sleep was almost comatose, eyes still beneath her heavy lids, mind silent and lost in a drug-induced oblivion.

She sat (lay? stood?) in something black and oppressively warm, feeling instead of seeing her surroundings. Her thoughts ran slowly, muddled and distorted by the narcotics. It felt like days elapsed in the effort for her to clench her fists.

Beneath her, she could feel something gritty and cold, rough against what felt like her bare flesh. Above her, around her, she heard the familiar, faint roaring of torch fire flapping in the wind. Something that felt like hot oil splattered against her cheek when she heard the torch go out, her mind registering only a pleasant heat instead of scalding oil.

She didn't realize she was moving in the oppressive darkness until her arm connected with the base of the torch, its wooden surface scraping beneath the skin of her forearm.

This was her post.

"_You'll try to kill me the second I give you a chance."_

Her fingers curved inwards, digging into the cool grit as she turned her head towards the sound of the voice. Her lips parted with the jarring realization that she'd heard this before.

"_I will…but you'd like that, wouldn't you?"_

That was her voice, so calm and restrained, pseudo-placidity masking the tremor in her undertone.

"_I'd _love_ it, seriously."_

Something curled in the pit of her stomach, the sensation stemming from desire or nausea, she couldn't tell. The oppressive darkness pressed down on her throat till she reached up to touch her lips, to pry them open and gasp, to let loose the flood of venom and the words she'd held back.

Between the black phases of delirium and her heaving pants, she let them out, dark thoughts she couldn't voice otherwise, desires she kept in the murk, lusts born of hate that had her arching wantonly for the chance to _hurt him_.

I'd love it, too, she whispered voicelessly, eyes closing as a grin pulled at the corners of her lips, eyeteeth scoring the skin.

I want it like nothing else. I want to see it. I want to see you against a backdrop of sand, silver hair soaking up the red in the sun. I want to see the look in your eyes when I touch you and make it hurt.

I want to use everything.

My nails, my fists, my teeth.

I want to hear you say it, because that's how I love to give it. I want to feel the softness peel, the wetness run. I want to hear it from your mouth. Say it.

_I like it rough._

I want to hit you till you crack, till the prettiness disappears like rain on bleached bone, evaporating in the heat. I want to hear it, the sounds of _stop_ and _please_.

I want it without restraint. Nails in your back and sand in your mouth, my teeth in your neck and your hair in my fist.

I want you to say it.

Say it.

_I like it rough_.

And watch as I give you what you want. Watch and take it. Watch and love it.

As I kiss my fists.

And break your face.

* * *

Temari's eyes flew open.

Daylight filtered through the window, and she found herself gazing into the obscene brightness unblinkingly, bloodshot sclera hardly registering the sharp, stabbing pain in her eyes.

She was drenched in sweat.

Swallowing, she found her throat parched, lips cracked and tongue heavy. Her head felt like it was weighed down with lead. Taking a slow breath, she pushed her hand into the soft, worn seat of the sofa, pushing herself to sit up.

A wave of anxiety coursed through her when her arm quaked with the effort, muscles straining beneath her weight.

Biting her lip, she squinted around at her surroundings, finding herself draped in a blanket. The television had been turned off.

_Kankuro_, she realized, pushing the blanket to the other end of the sofa. _How long was I…_

Her heart nearly jumped into her throat when her eyes caught the time, the clock's numbers slightly blurred on the opposite wall.

7:12 PM.

She'd slept thirteen hours.

Clenching her fingers into fists, she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat, tearing her eyes away from the clock.

Her next shift was in less than five hours.

Taking a deep breath, she crawled off the sofa and stood, only to stumble towards the wall to keep her balance when her vision dissolved into a white haze. Reeling from the sudden rush of blood to her head, she closed her eyes as an intense pressure pounded in her temples, receding with agonizing slowness.

_No more_, she thought inwardly, thinking back to Gaara's bottle of sleeping pills. _At least not more than one._

Once the dizziness subsided, she moved away from the wall and up the stairs, craving the feel of hot water to beat away the loose ends of her dream and the intangible filth that accompanied it.

To her dismay, the shower did little to drive away the remaining drowsiness, and she found herself having to force her late breakfast down her throat, stomach churning at the mere sight of it. Nausea followed immediately after, and she slapped her hand to her mouth to keep the food down, squeezing her eyes shut.

She couldn't afford to be sick or weak. Not when he'd be there.

Clenching her jaw, she reached for the injections in her pack, whatever regrets she held vanishing once the needle bit into her skin.

* * *

Hours later, while sitting in the living room and making the futile effort to distract herself with reading, she slammed the book shut, unable to concentrate. Dropping it onto the coffee table, she reluctantly decided to get some air, craving the feel of sunlight.

When she stepped outside, the neighbourhood that greeted her was eerily silent, the sound of her sandaled feet scraping over the stone ground unusually loud as she turned to look at her surroundings.

Her brow furrowed when she realized there was no one outside. The doors were shut and the windows closed in the surrounding houses, unusual for Suna evenings when the sun was still bright. No children played on the street. No one loitered on the sidewalks.

Suddenly tense, she tightened her fists, narrowed eyes scouring the alleys between the houses for a sign until a muffled shout rang out.

Whipping around, she blinked when she found two jounin leaping over rooftops towards her direction, and two more running up the street towards her, kunai out by their sides.

Confused, she focused on the jounin in the front of the group, following the direction of his outstretched arm till she turned to face the opposite side of the street.

A figure in a dark cloak darted out from between two houses in front of her hardly a second later, ten feet from where she stood. They stared at each other for only a fraction of a second before he took off sprinting down the street.

Her fists went limp by her sides, heart skipping a beat.

_What if I'm lying? Let's say I do cross the border…_

The jounin's shouts fell deaf on her ears, senseless and dulled into a hollow blaring as the blood rushed to her face. Her legs took off without her realizing, mind oblivious to the warning cries behind her.

She caught up almost instantly, and the harsh, grating scream that sounded right before she slammed into the figure was a sound she never thought herself capable of making.

They fell to floor, skidding violently, and the shouts behind her increased in volume, high-pitched and alarmed as she pinned him to the ground. Her clenched fist collided with the side of his face so hard she felt the skin of her knuckles grate off, and the tendons in her right hand nearly snapped beneath the force of the second blow she landed against his jaw.

Then her throbbing hands were scrambling for her bag and a kunai was in her grip, knees digging into his ribs to keep him immobile. Without wasting a second, she drove it mercilessly into his chest, withdrawing it almost instantly to drive it again into his throat, and then once more across, completely oblivious to the hot blood spraying across her face.

She stabbed viciously and uncontrollably, aimlessly skewering every bit of exposed flesh she could see through the red haze, driving her knee into his gut to keep him pinned to the ground.

Between the sounds of her own nonsensical fury and the kunai scraping bone, she couldn't hear her subordinates telling her he was dead after the first strike.

Hands seized her wrists, trying to pull her back, but she tore away from them with a vicious snarl, straining towards the bloodied body lying motionless on the red-stained sand.

_Faker. He's just faking._

Then she was on top of him again, about to drive the kunai once more into his throat when something gritty wrapped around her wrists, jerking her back.

"Temari!"

Arms snaked around her middle, yanking her away from the bloodied corpse. Infuriated, she turned to shove them off, kunai in hand, only to gasp and stop midway when the gritty grip on her wrist tightened till her arm was immobile.

Kankuro stared at her, wide-eyed and breathless, his arms loosening slightly around her waist as she blinked, a look of recognition dawning on her features. The kunai clattered to the stone ground as the sand around her wrist retracted, and she moved her wide-eyed gaze to see Gaara standing right next to Kankuro, staring at her with a surprised look on his face.

Gradually, Kankuro released her and she stepped back, ignoring the group of jounin who stared at her in disbelief as she turned slowly to look at the corpse. Kankuro moved to grab her wrist when she took a step towards it, but Gaara raised a hand to stop him as she moved closer to peer at his face.

Using her foot, she drew the drape of black cloth from over his head, her breath catching in her throat when it fell away.

_Not him._

It took her a moment to realize him as one of Suna's traitorous missing nin, recently accused of spying for another village.

Her chest suddenly began to ache and it became harder to breathe, eyes narrowing in dismay when she lowered her gaze to the bloodied mess of his torso.

Suddenly sickened and alarmed, she turned away from it, unable to meet her brothers' gazes as the first of the flies settled on the corpse.

* * *

"What the hell was that, Temari?" Kankuro demanded, circling Gaara's desk to stand near her chair. "Have you lost your mind?"

Temari remained silent, blank eyes focused on the hourglass resting atop Gaara's bookshelf. They'd been in here only twenty minutes and Kankuro was already hoarse from shouting at her, his tirade echoing through the empty hallways. She swallowed hard, willing herself to look composed, thoughts racing to find words and reasoning to elucidate her behaviour.

"Temari," Gaara said calmly, watching her from over his folded hands. "Why did you kill that man?"

She said nothing for a few seconds, closing her eyes tightly before lowering her gaze from the hourglass. The nin's face flashed in her mind's eye, pallid skin speckled with blood, eyes blank and dull.

"His name was Yuuto," Gaara said after a moment, watching her closely. "He was an accomplice to Hirai Dairou, an S-class missing nin we've been pursuing since last year. He was only avoiding arrest, Temari. Why did you kill him?"

"I thought…he was someone else," she said hollowly.

"Who?" Kankuro asked, a bewildered look on his face. "Even if you thought he was one of the S-rank missing nin from the village, the right protocol is to just incapacitate him, not rip his fucking guts out."

"Kankuro," Gaara said quietly. "Let her talk."

Reluctantly, the puppet master pressed his lips together, dropping into an armchair near the window.

Temari took a deep breath, pretending her hands weren't as sweaty as they were and praying her face wasn't betraying any of the thoughts plaguing her mind.

_I can't tell them. They'll take me off my station. They don't know him like I do. They'll get themselves hurt again, they'll get themselves killed—_

"Temari," Gaara prompted.

She lifted her head, forcing her features to relax into a blank expression.

"I overreacted," she said flatly.

Kankuro stood up, fists clenched by his sides.

"That's a load of bullshit," he snapped. "Temari, you've been acting weird ever since you were stationed at the border."

Silence blanketed the room following the outburst, and Temari found herself staring at him, frozen and wide-eyed as her fingernails dug into the armrests of her chair.

Gaara looked between the two, narrowing his eyes.

"What's been happening at the border?"

Kankuro's angry expression faded into one of dismay when her eyes narrowed into a withering glare, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in her palms.

"Temari," Gaara said sharply when she didn't reply. "Answer me."

"There's something I need to do," she replied, voice wavering as she turned to look at him. "Gaara, it's something I can handle myself."

Her youngest brother slowly rose to his feet, eyes narrowing further.

"Who's at the border?"

"Nobody," she said, standing as well. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"Temari, you're making yourself sick," Kankuro interrupted, voice softer and edged with concern. "You haven't been yourself."

Gaara spared a glance at his brother, considering his words before shifting his gaze to his sister's face.

"Temari, I want you to take a—"

"No!" she shouted now, fury rendering her voice shrill as she took a step forward. "Gaara, don't take me off the border. There's something I have to do."

"Temari—"

"You don't know," she continued, voice breaking in her throat as she forced back the nausea and numbing panic. "It's for your own good."

_Not again. I won't lose them again._

"Why won't you just tell us what the problem is?" Kankuro demanded heatedly. "Since when do you hide anything from us? We're your brothers!"

"Please," Temari said, quietly now, hiding the shaking of her fists behind her back. "Please, I'm asking you…just let me stay there till the barricades go up. Then I'll quit. Until then…"

She trailed off, pressing her lips into a thin line as Kankuro sank bank into his armchair in resignation.

Gaara considered her, eyes searching her face, a frown of concern marring his features.

"It'll be two months till they go up," he finally said, quietly.

"I can do that," she said immediately, not caring about the dreams, the insomnia, or the repercussions of either. "Just give me two months. Then I'll quit."

Gaara eyed her long and hard, his gaze intense as she returned the stare resolutely, adamant despite the paleness in her face and the harrowed look in her eyes.

"Two months," he said with finality. "That's it."

She nearly sank into the chair in relief, not giving herself the opportunity to feel regret when Kankuro stood up and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

"I can do that," she said, forcing a small smile. "Thanks, Gaara."

He didn't reply, lowering his eyes as he slid open a drawer and browsed through the papers inside till he found what he was looking for, placing it on the desk and sliding it towards her.

"Hirai Dairou has been spotted recently around River country," he said gravely as she lowered her eyes to the picture. "Keep your guard up while at the border."

She nodded, folding the picture and tucking it into the front lapel of her shirt, feeling a renewed burst of resolution as she left his office, strides purposeful and eyes narrowed in determination.

_This time, I'll protect the both of you_, she thought vehemently, stashing her flares and weapons in her bag an hour later. _I'll kill him along with anyone else to keep you two safe._

She touched her fingertip to the point of her kunai, a cynical smirk pulling at her lips as her eyes caught sight of the time.

9:32 PM.

Her smirk widened into a grim smile.

"I'm done being afraid," she said under her breath, teal eyes narrowed as she stashed the kunai in her bag. "Let's see how long we can make this game last."

* * *

10:40 PM.

Luminous green eyes glanced askance at the doorway, reflecting the dim light of the bedside lamp. They trailed after the figure that entered the room, furtively examining the state of his garments as they were tossed to the bed.

Wordlessly, he watched him disappear into the bathroom, eyes reverting back to his work as the pipes groaned and the shower started up with a dull hiss behind the door.

The past seven nights had been like this. He anticipated another departure as he listened to the hiss of the shower, taking note of the time. His partner's behaviour had been rather unusual lately.

The bedside clock displayed the time in luminous, red numbers, the glow eerily bright in the midnight blue darkness infiltrating the room. Furtively, he glanced at the garments again.

The bathroom door opened twenty minutes later, and his eyes shifted once more towards the other side of the room, watching the wet trail emerging from the bathroom, staring at the discarded cloak as drops of wayward water embedded themselves into the spotless fabric.

Hidan was going out again.

"You're aware that the Leader isn't keen on anyone leaving the headquarters after midnight," Kakuzu stated flatly.

"Yeah," came the careless response, muffled by a towel. "Your point?"

"Where have you been going the last seven nights?"

"You worried about me, Kakuzu? I'm touched."

"Don't play games, Hidan," he said calmly, eyes following him across the room. "The Leader isn't blind. He'll notice sooner or later."

"Let him notice. I don't give a shit."

"You should be careful," Kakuzu said slowly, smirking behind his mask. "You could die."

Hidan paused, raising his head to give him a withering glare.

"How many times…" he muttered in response. "How many fucking times have I told you…"

Kakuzu merely made a soft sound of amusement in his throat, lowering his eyes to the hem of the cloak as Hidan pulled it on. A barely audible sprinkle of sound broke the silence, and Kakuzu lowered his eyes to the floor, blinking momentarily in surprise at the sight of sand speckling the ground.

"I'm going out," Hidan said brusquely over his shoulder, turning towards the door.

"Wait."

Hidan paused, turning his head to glance over at him impatiently.

Kakuzu raised his eyes to stare at him, more curious now than anything else.

"Why are you going _there_?"

Hidan stared at him, momentarily silent as a wry grin slowly curved his lips, violet eyes reflecting amusement as he turned his gaze back towards the door.

"I've got a date," he replied, his smirk widening slightly before he stepped through, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

The effects of the injection lingered into the night, supplying nervous energy and strength in the form of tension, making the tendons in her hands flex spasmodically at odd intervals.

Taking a deep breath, Temari slowly exhaled, watching her breath fog in the frigid air, diffusing into the inky blackness of the desert. Her shadow flickered on the sand in front of her, firelight illuminating the grains of sand till they shone like diamonds.

There was silence save for the quiet flapping of torch fire in the whispering breeze, and goose bumps broke out against her skin as the wind blew tufts of wayward hair across her face.

She took a fistful of the grains in her hand, squeezing and feeling her pulse throb before she let them drain through her parted fingers, eyes focused intently on the circles of red light near the oasis.

He sat there, head bowed towards the rosary in his hand, fingertips gradually making their way to the last of the beads.

She watched him through partially closed eyes, her mind blissfully quiet, serene with the situation and the fact that she had him pinned beneath her gaze. Something almost like tranquility replaced the uncertainty, an eerie calmness stemming from a lack of paranoid thoughts.

He was there where she could see him, there where she could stop him. She found it strange that this was the most relaxed she'd been since the night before, vaguely unsettled by how she could be so calm in front of him after what she'd done to Yuuto a few hours earlier.

She blinked, startled when his voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I had a dream about you last night."

Temari stiffened at the sudden, offhand comment, fingers tightening unconsciously around the fistful of sand as he placed his rosary back around his neck, glancing up at her. She stared at him, suddenly encompassed with a maddening feeling of discomfort. His smile was practically tangible in the dark.

"Oh?" she managed to get out after a moment, keeping her voice carefully detached.

He nodded, the motion barely perceptible in the crimson light of the flares.

"...fucking good dream, too."

The fistful of sand abruptly fell back to the ground.

Steeling herself, she furiously willed away the blush that erupted over her face, glad that the shawl obscured her mortified grimace.

He snickered at her silence, finally glancing up from the blades of his scythe.

"Don't get excited, Blondie. It's not what you think, seriously."

Temari closed her eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath to dispel the burning in her cheeks.

"Enlighten me, why don't you," she said through gritted teeth.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, tone whimsical.

"You killed me in it."

She stared at him, blinking in the bleak silence that followed. He said nothing for a few moments, but took her enduring silence as an incentive to describe it.

"Wasn't anything special. You cut my throat with a kunai and that was it."

"That's all?" Temari inquired, sneering now. "A kunai? I would've decapitated you with your own weapon."

His smirk widened.

"You're a girl after my own heart, seriously."

"But I'd torture you first," Temari continued, smirking now. "_Then _I'd decapitate you with your own weapon. And then I'd bury you alive."

"Jeez, watch what you say," he groaned, clutching dramatically at his heart. "Anymore and I seriously might fall in love with you."

Temari gave him an appalled look, saying the first thing that came to mind.

"You're insane."

"Look who's talking."

She ignored the remark, settling for playing with the sand again, the grains cool against the hot skin of her palm. The oasis was eerily still next to him, giving the illusion of untainted, pristine water. She imagined she could still see the bits of blood-saturated sand floating on the surface.

"How many of our kunoichi?" she asked suddenly, tone impassive.

It took him a moment to understand what she was referring to, realization settling in when he noticed her staring at the oasis.

"I don't use kunoichi unless I have to," he replied, moving to lie on his side, propping his head up on his hand. "Two reasons. One, because they're so fucking paranoid and always put up a fight. Last time I went after one, the bitch nearly took my head off."

Temari couldn't help but smirk at that.

"And the second reason?"

"They're whores," he said calmly. "They'll fuck a leper to get a mission done."

She moved her gaze from the water, staring down at his reclined form.

"Whores," Temari repeated expressionlessly.

"Yeah. And don't tell me it isn't true. They'll put out if it'll get something done, seriously."

"So what you're implying," Temari said slowly. "Is that all kunoichi use their bodies to their advantage."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"So you're calling me a whore."

"Oh, did I offend you?" he asked, sounding amused. "Gonna go all feminist on me?"

"No," Temari said calmly, dusting off her hands. "Because you're right about most kunoichi. They'll employ seduction techniques to get names, information, or an opportunity for assassination. But then…"

She stared down at him haughtily, eyes narrowed.

"I'm not like most kunoichi."

"That so?" he inquired, raising a brow, a grin slowly curving his lips.

Temari allowed herself a small smirk as she stared down at him, sensing his expectation for her to continue.

_Good, get comfortable_, she thought inwardly. _You have no idea what I'm capable of doing to you._ _I'll humour you. I'll talk. I'll be a good sport. It'll be all the more worth it to see your expression when I break your face._

She lifted her gaze, staring thoughtfully at the crescent moon.

"It all comes down to technique," she finally said, seemingly to herself. "It's up to the kunoichi. She can use her body and meet her objectives. Few people would suspect a whore of having any motives besides sex and the payment afterwards, so in a way, it's safer. You put on an act, and if you're good at it, no one thinks twice about questioning you."

"Fucking low, if you ask me."

"Nobody ever said being a shinobi was clean, honest work," Temari said wryly, gazing contemplatively into the distance. "You of all people should know that."

She heard him chuckle softly and continued.

"Then there's stealth. You can let it all ride on your ability as a shinobi. Hiding, following, eavesdropping, blending in—never giving a sign that you're there. You can cut someone's throat from behind and be gone within three seconds, and you can get information without being seen." She paused. "But it's the most dangerous way to get things done. You put yourself at risk of getting caught, and getting caught almost always means death. Stealth is effective, but only if you've got the skill."

"So what you're saying is it's just easier to act like a whore."

"More or less."

"And I'm guessing you're good enough for stealth?"

"Good enough," she affirmed, almost whimsically. "But that's not my way of getting things done."

"Now you're just being a fucking tease."

Temari lowered her eyes and almost laughed at the look of impatience on his face. Smirking slightly, she moved her gaze to her gloved fingers, flexing them slowly into a fist and feeling an intense rush at the strength in her hand.

"I use force," she said calmly, removing the glove to gaze at the flexing tendons. "Good old-fashioned brutality."

"Are you serious?"

She raised her eyes and caught him staring at her, looking almost impressed.

"A promise of pleasure will get you a few whispered tidbits of information," she intoned. "But a promise of pain will get you what you need and more, screamed at you, with nothing left out."

He looked intrigued, remaining silent as she raised her eyes to the horizon again, sounding complacent.

"Few kunoichi can get away with the stealth approach," she explained. "And anyone can sleep around. But only a small handful of shinobi can use force as an incentive and be successful."

She gripped an empty flare canister by her side, feeling a thrill of excitement creep up her spine as the metal gave slightly under the pressure.

"You need the ability to be cruel," she said, dropping the dented canister to the sand. "And your cruelty needs to be authentic. It's not the threat of pain that persuades a person to talk—it's the way the threat is delivered. If your target can look you in the eye and _see_ that you mean every word, he'll break easily."

She sensed his gaze on her, unwavering and intense, and felt a strange sort of pride she couldn't explain, prompting her to keep talking.

"And there are two ways to deliver the threat, two ways to get the message across," she continued, tracing circles on the frame of her fan, a wry smirk pulling at her lips. "Without an expression...or with a smile."

"How the hell does that work?"

Temari thought of Gaara, recalling the days in which they carried out missions together, remembering his face, devoid of emotion, blank as a slate, even as his victims screamed and the blood sprayed across his face.

"When you deliver a threat without an expression," she said slowly, recalling snatches of hysterical confessions and sobbed admissions. "It tells the target that you're serious—that you're emotionless. It tells him that if he doesn't talk, you'll hurt him without reprieve. It tells him you're incapable of granting mercy—that you won't go back on your word."

Gaara and his blank expression faded from her mind, replaced with herself and Kankuro, replaced with memories of her other brother grinning through smudged paint in satisfaction when people screamed what he needed to know.

"But when you say it with a smile…" Temari paused, feeling the corners of her lips rise slightly. "It tells the target that you're going to enjoy hurting him. It tells him that not only are you going to ignore his begging, but you'll get a laugh out of it—that you might continue the torture even after he gives you what you want—just for the hell of it. When you say it with a smile…that's when they answer fastest."

Temari glanced down and caught him staring at her, the unspoken question written all over his face.

"Do I smile?" she asked, feeling herself do just that, eyes glittering. "Sometimes."

He didn't reply, watching her with an unreadable look on his face.

"Either way," she continued, leaning back on her hands. "You need to make the threat sound believable. Telling him you'll string him up by his intestines makes you sound like an amateur."

"Really," he said, sounding amused.

"Like I said, it has to sound believable—like it's within your power to make it happen."

"And what's your take?"

Temari stared at him, idly twirling the empty flare canister between her fingers. When it dropped to the sand, she sat up again, unsure of whether she should feel ashamed or proud to share her techniques.

Issues involving morality were topics shinobi hardly touched upon with each other, keeping the pride, pleasure and subsequent guilt over their techniques to themselves, suffering and reveling in silence. Murder and torture came with the job description, and morality leaked definition through the years, remaining as nothing but an obscure idea amidst the red haze and lifeless bodies.

Looking back, she found that it was on more accounts than one she treaded the line between necessity and sadism.

A shiver coursed through her at the thought of her last dream and the satisfaction she'd derived from it, and she wasn't sure whether the burning in her cheeks was a result of hot shame or a flush of pleasure.

_But right now, fretting over morals is irrelevant_, she realized with a wry smirk, staring at him. _At least, it is when you're talking to the devil in disguise_.

"Physiopathology," Temari finally replied, tone impassive. "Explaining the effects of injury."

"Give me a sample. I gotta hear this."

She paused again, gazing at him in bemusement.

Rarely did the topic of torture techniques arise in casual conversation between normal people. Rarely did she get to explain the full extent of her methods. Never did she have the opportunity to be acknowledged for what she knew was a brilliant technique.

She almost felt ashamed, then, for being glad to have someone eager to listen, especially someone like him. Somehow, the idea of receiving approval from the person she despised most instilled her with a sense of accomplishment she would never feel anywhere else.

It was something twisted and morbid, but fed her pride like no other form of approval could, providing encouragement to voice the dark thoughts everyone has but never speaks of, stroking the part of her ego she kept strictly to herself.

Biting her lip, she made up her mind, leaning back on her hands again.

"I needed information from a brothel owner," she started, clearly recalling the mission. "About the clientele he had. We'd gotten a tip that a missing nin was coming and going there often. But he had a confidentiality policy. Wouldn't talk. So I asked him if we could chat in his office, in private.

"He thought I was offering myself as a method of persuasion, so he agreed. I went in first. He locked the door behind him. He came at me…" she trailed off, blinking as the memory arose in her mind's eye, as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

"He came at me," she repeated slowly. "And I pinned him to the wall. By his hands…with kunai. And he screamed and struggled until I pinned his feet to the floor. Then he started crying. But he wouldn't talk."

Again, something resembling both pride and shame festered within her as she recalled the scene, relaying it to another person now for the first time.

"So I grabbed him by the throat," she continued calmly. "And I told him he had five minutes to answer before I started squeezing. He swore at me, wasted time threatening me, so I cut off one of his fingers. He still didn't talk—trying to use the excuse that his life would be in danger. I told him he should worry more about what I'd do to him. At least his clientele would make his death quick."

Temari grinned at the memory of the brothel owner's face when she told him what her plans were, a faint tingle of excitement creeping up her spine.

"Strangulation," she said. "I said I was going to choke him to death. Slowly. And told him what would happen to his body, where it would hurt, bit by bit until he stopped breathing. He thought I didn't have it in me, so I started squeezing and outlining the consequences."

The words fell from her lips with an ease that would've alarmed her otherwise, eerily calm considering the nature of their implications. But she couldn't stop now, not when she finally had someone to hear her out.

"Venous obstruction—a stall in blood flow to the brain. Cerebral stagnation. Hypoxia. Airway obstruction—a feeling like his lungs would explode. Carotid pressure—first step to arterial spasms and collapse. Burst capillaries. Swollen tongue. Cardiac arrest. Thendeath."

Temari paused, recalling the look of intensifying horror on the man's face as she outlined the effects, perfectly serious and never relenting in her grip around his neck.

"So I squeezed until he screamed what I needed to know," she said complacently, with a faint hint of triumph. "He told me that and more. My reward to him was to leave him alive. My punishment for him wasting my time was to leave him pinned to the wall. And to give his finger to his dog for calling me a whore."

She smiled faintly at the memory of petting the dog while it gnawed on the finger and the man screamed himself hoarse in the background.

"In comparison, sleeping with him would have been easier," Temari said thoughtfully, watching thin streaks of cloud drift across the crescent moon. "I could have taken the easier, sleazier route. I could have been like most kunoichi…"

She lowered her eyes to him, a humourless smile gracing her face.

"But I'll strangle a thousand more men and cut off a thousand more fingers before I sink to that level."

He stared at her wordlessly, face expressionless.

Temari stared back unwaveringly, waiting for him to judge, waiting with her fists clenched in the sand beside her, breaths short and pulse racing.

Gradually, his expression changed. A slow, carnal smile lifted the corners of his lips, eyes wide and bright with something akin to admiration. Silently, instantly, she gained his respect whether she wanted it or not.

And simultaneously, her pride burst forth with an intensity that elicited an uncontrollable smile from her own lips—one born of accomplishment and acknowledgment for something never meant to leave the cluster of dark, victorious memories in the back of her mind.

It felt both good and bad, euphoria and guilt blending to form an emotion that made her face burn and her breathing shallow. She was proud and mortified, pleased and ashamed, though the euphoria out-weighed everything else.

"You know," he finally spoke after the prolonged silence, tone mild. "We're not as different as you think we are."

"You're wrong," she said calmly, complacent as she watched him, anticipating his response. "You're a bad person."

His smile widened into a grin.

"And what does that make you?"

She stared down at him, a smirk curving her lips as she tapped her finger against the tip of a kunai.

_You hide a black nature behind a pretty face. I want to peel it away, break it till you resemble the filth you truly are._

"What does that make me?" she repeated inquiringly, tone deliberately whimsical.

_I still want you to say it. I still want it to hurt. I want to be like you, if only for a little while, and revel in someone else's pain. I want you to say it._

She lowered the kunai towards the ground, smirking.

"I'm just a good person who likes bad things."

He was still grinning, obviously enjoying himself, still playing the game.

"Really? Then you must miss me when I'm gone."

She tasted blood while smiling back, humourless and full of spite.

"I miss all the opportunities I've had to hurt you."

He was standing, suddenly, taking an inviting step forward.

"I can give you one."

Her breaths came faster, fingers smearing sweat on the frame of her fan.

"As much as I want to, I can't break protocol."

Another step forward, and the scythe's shadow stretched long and sharp in the circle of light, curved and beak-like.

"I'm willing to take the blame for you."

The scent of metal assaulted her senses as she tightened her sweaty grip on the fan.

"You know I'm not alone."

His voice was teasing now, and he took another step closer.

"I could come back during the day."

A moment later she was standing as well, breath fogging in the dark, eyes wide and mouth dry.

"You wouldn't know where to look."

He smiled secretively, maliciously.

"I'd find you, don't worry."

She took a step forward, hearing the transmitter buzz threateningly, unable to bring herself to care.

"I won't hold back."

He was standing at the edge of the lit circle, a mere step away from leaving her line of sight and touching the border.

"I wouldn't want it any other way, seriously."

Breathless, panicked, and euphoric all at once, she waited, wanting this, wanting to put the rage to use, wanting him to take that last step.

She couldn't bring herself to speak or move.

_One step. Just one more. Please, just one more._

He seemed to sense what she was thinking, lingering there at the edge of the circle for an unbearably long time, just staring at her, his smile tangible in the dark.

She stared back, shallow breaths fogging the air, eyes unblinking despite the sting of chilled wind.

The fan nearly fell from her fingers when he abruptly turned his head away, turning his back to her as he walked back towards the flares.

He paused near the first one as it began to flicker, turning his body slightly to look back at her, sounding amused.

"Next time, Blondie. Until then, try not to miss me too much."

Then he was gone, swallowed up by the inky blackness of the desert as the flare sputtered and died in his wake, flickering into darkness.

* * *

The ache in her chilled limbs went unnoticed when the sun rose and the other patrollers came to take her place, her eyes focused blankly in the direction he'd departed in.

She left without a word, eyes blank as she dragged her numb feet through the sand, paying no attention to the concerned looks her subordinates gave her.

The anxiety and uncertainty re-emerged the instant he'd left her sight, coiling in the pit of her stomach, inciting the familiar feel of nausea as she'd stood there, staring after him. Now, as she pushed open the door to her house and was greeted by silence, it grew worse.

Unthinkingly, Temari headed towards the kitchen, searching through the cabinets till she found the sleeping pills, taking the entire bottle with her to her room.

Setting it down on her nightstand, she unzipped her coat, letting it fall to the floor and listening to the sound of sand sprinkling the floor. Her boots went next, and she didn't bother changing out of her clothes, crawling into her bed wearily.

She shivered beneath the blankets, screwing her eyes shut in an effort to sleep and block out the dim light that blanketed her room. Outside the dark blinds the sun crept higher over the horizon, casting the faint, pale blue light of dawn over the desert.

Temari clenched her jaw, bringing her hand up to feebly cover her ear as his taunting words found refuge in the darkness, resurfacing at the absence of noise.

_You miss me when I'm gone._

I don't, she thought inwardly, almost despairingly. I don't.

_I could come back during the day._

"You left," Temari whispered aloud, the sound of her hoarse, weak voice making her feel all the more sick. "I saw you leave."

She let her eyes open partially, blinking blearily in the dark at where her nightstand was, at where the sleeping pills were. She wanted oblivion, now more than ever. But the side effects of the narcotics were ones she couldn't afford. She couldn't afford to have her senses dulled, her strength diminished, not when she had him to deal with.

Shuddering again, Temari burrowed deeper beneath her blanket, forcing her eyes shut, attempting and failing to block out the thought of him turning around, the thought of him easily making his way into her village without her there to stop him.

It was only then she truly began to understand how far she'd fallen.

Closure only came when she got to see him, the blissful cave-in of anxiety occurring once she had him pinned beneath her gaze. When he was there, there were no what-ifs or second thoughts. He was there where she could see him, there where she could stop him.

Then all too soon he'd be gone, disappearing into the dark desert, forcing her back into a realm of maddening uncertainty, eliciting dark thoughts and a plague of paranoia that lasted the remainder of the day, following her to the shower, to the store, to the office, to her bed.

_You miss me when I'm gone._

In some twisted, depraved way, she did.

She missed the lack of uncertainty that existed when he was there. She missed the reassurance of having him before her and not near her loved ones. She missed the relief of not having to worry and agonize like how she was doing now.

She missed him for the sheer sake of not having to wonder and die a little inside each time she pictured him taking away the only two people in the world that mattered to her.

Temari knew she was fighting a losing battle once the bile started rising in the back of her throat, her shivering worsening as an hour wrapped in dark thoughts expired with agonizing slowness.

At 6:17 AM, she succumbed to resignation and numbly reached for the bottle of sleeping pills.

At 6:20 AM, she sank back into the blankets, curling up on her side and staring through partially closed eyes at the adjacent wall.

At 6:30 AM, as her thoughts gave away to delirium and her exhaustion to numbing drowsiness, she suddenly felt him there. Her eyes slowly opened, numbness overtaking her body as she felt the tangible, reassuring illusion of warm, bodily weight beside her supine form.

Frozen, she stared blankly into the darkness, knowing she was hallucinating, knowing that the warmth was a figment, a fever, not real. And still, she was afraid of what her fingertips might encounter should she reach back and touch.

Eventually, delusional relief overpowered fear, and she gave herself up to the hallucination with abandon, elated at the thought of a dreamless sleep untroubled by paranoid wonderings.

_Stay there_, she thought hazily, her eyes only a teal gleam through the crack in her eyelids. _Stay where I can feel you. Stay where I can find you. Stay…_

Her eyes slid closed, and Temari found it difficult to fight the faint shudder that coursed through her frame when the hallucination leaned forward, its warm, whispered words caressing the shell of her ear as she let oblivion swallow her.

_Knew you'd miss me._

* * *

Note: Reviews make me update faster. (grins) 


	5. Of Double Entendres

Quotidian ch.5

By: firefly

Note: Hoooly crap, THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone for their reviews, support, and patience. This chapter was a long, long way coming (not to mention the longest chapter ahaha), and a really draining one to write.

I think it's safe to say there's one chapter left to go, and although I doubt there'll be two I won't rule it out. Bah, just know that this insane fic is coming to an end soon. XD

Now, carry on my lovelies!

(P.S. The "screening test" described in the fic is a real psyche experiment I participated in for a class.)

**Of Double Entendres**

A spider descended slowly on a strand of silk, pausing momentarily at the shuffle of papers before it continued its descent towards the ground. Dust flew up from every preceding impact of books and papers on a half-rotted table, startling hiding spiders into a scurry towards open crevices in the cracked wood.

A bare bulb flickered overheard, casting a grimy, dim yellow light over the old documents and splaying dark shadows over the dusty stone floor.

Another pile of papers was dropped onto the desk, sending up plumes of dust. A soft, muttered curse sounded in the silence.

"Where the hell is it…"

The shelves were better illuminated when he brought a lamp forward, walking right up to the files, violet irises appearing scarlet in the glare, darting from file to file.

He shifted the lamp and descended into a crouch, scoping the file names until one of the headers on a whole shelf finally caught his eye.

_Sunagakure no sato._

He placed the lamp onto the table and reached forward to take the entire section, rising to his feet and dumping it onto the table. A mouse squeaked and scurried out past his foot from the jarring impact of files but he paid no attention, gaze focused resolutely on the papers he perused.

Photographs of various Suna shinobi met his gaze momentarily before being discarded back into their files, each folder dropping to the other side of the table as he browsed through them.

Dead jounin. Missing jounin. Active jounin. They were all mixed together.

Muttering another curse under his breath, he dropped forty of the checked files to the other side of the table, and then opened another one. He didn't have to look past the first photograph to know this couldn't be it, eyes stilling on the candid photo before him.

_Sabaku no Gaara_, he read silently, staring at the label before raising his eyes to the photograph again. He recognized him as the Kazekage of Suna, and as the jinchuuriki they'd captured to extract the Ichibi. The photograph depicting him was a few months old, showing a full view of his face as he listened to something an advisor next to him was saying. The snapshot had been taken by a spy, to both the obliviousness of the subject and all those surrounding him.

The rest of the photos also depicted Suna's current Kazekage in various stages throughout his life, supplemented by sheets upon sheets of data and statistics. A family tree was printed on the inside of the folder, showing the jinchuuriki as a descendent from his father, the Yondaime.

Sucking his teeth in annoyance, he dropped the photos to the corner of the table before reaching for the rest of the files.

They yielded nothing, and after forty-five minutes of perusing them he shoved them back onto the shelf in aggravation. Reaching up, he moved to grab the chain hanging from the single bulb overhead, but paused when the jinchuuriki's file caught his eye again.

Slowly, he let his arm drop back down by his side, eyes narrowing into a squint as he approached the desk again. The foremost photograph was the most recent, blurry save for the perfect shot of the Kazekage's young face. Three people walked on either side of him and a few behind, clustered close.

The faint clinking of rosary beads sounded in the silence as he slowly leaned closer, pausing only when his face hovered inches from the photograph, violet eyes scrutinizing the figure in black near the Kazekage's side. Her head was turned towards someone in the back of the group.

Something akin to anticipation played in his chest when he touched the photograph, tracing the blurry, dark object protruding from behind her back. Suddenly encouraged, he pushed the photograph aside and looked at the next one.

This one depicted the Kazekage with another young man who looked slightly older, features somewhat obscured by kabuki paint. In the far corner, a dark figure stood by, cut off from above the chin, but her gloved hands rested upon a long, dark object, similar to the one in the previous photograph.

A flip to the next photograph, and he came to a standstill.

_There she was_.

Now in clear sight, standing directly next to the Kazekage and the same painted man from before, her hair was up in those distinctive pigtails, her large, dark eyes focused on the Kazekage, lips slightly parted in speech.

Feeling a triumphant smirk flourish on his lips, he pushed aside the photo and took up the rest in his hands, straightening to look at them in the light. The camera had caught her in various poses, unbeknownst to her and her company, catching her in serious, amused, indifferent, and even laughing expressions, although every shot of her was blurred in conjunction with the main subject, the Kazekage.

He watched her grow younger with every subsequent photo he withdrew from the back of the pile, a wry smirk gracing his face as he took in the never-ending haughtiness with which she carried herself. The smile gradually faded when he noticed the same, constant arrangement in every photo.

The face-painted kid. Sabaku no Gaara. Then her.

Blinking, he dropped the pile to the table and spread it out, staring in bemusement at the sight of three years' worth of photographs taken of the same group of people. Along with the three of them, a partially masked man constantly stood watch near them, his vest denoting him as a jounin.

Realization suddenly dawned on him.

The jounin had been their genin instructor. The three must have comprised a genin team. The team consisted of…

He ran a finger down the family tree on the side of the folder, eyes widening when he caught sight of the names branching off from the Yondaime's.

Sabaku no Gaara. Sabaku no Kankuro. And Sabaku no Temari.

His eyes darted back to the photographs, slowly taking notice of the similarities in their features, the similar haughtiness that came with being recipients of preferential treatment.

_Siblings._

His arm drifted back to his side, eyes widening.

Traces of her steely voice resurfaced at the sight of her picture, their first meetings coming to mind.

_I know the organization you're a part of…I know what kind of people you are._

Accusing.

_I keep coming back because I'm waiting for you to give me a reason to kill you._

Vindictive.

_Nothing to do with you…? Does it matter? You're all the same, so I don't see why you should be excluded._

Unforgiving.

_But I'd torture you first. Then I'd decapitate you with your own weapon. And then I'd bury you alive._

Ruthless.

_I'm not like most kunoichi…_

"Well fuck me," Hidan said softly under his breath, staring at the picture in amazement. "The jinchuuriki's her brother…"

All at once, the inexplicable reasons behind the moments in which he'd felt her tangible fury and unspoken maledictions became blindingly clear, and with it, he slowly realized just how much unadulterated hate she must have been harbouring, and how much it must have been tearing at her insides to let him leave unharmed each night.

All her talk of guarding the border, her vehemence towards performing her duties, her pride to do her job—they were all pretenses, all transparent coverage for the real reason she came to him each night.

Revenge. She was out for his blood and nothing more, and from the cold glint of her eyes and unwavering determination, he could tell she would stop at nothing until she had it. Her hate was tangible in the dark, a constant, lingering burn on every inch of his frame from the moment he arrived to the moment he left. It was intense, untiring, and poisonous, forged from the deepest form of malice and wrath fathomable, something he could sense in the way his skin tingled unpleasantly long after his departures from the oasis.

The aura of malevolence only grew with each meeting, doubling and tripling from the incipient feelings he'd sensed in the first meetings into something darker, something alive and sick and thriving in the harsh cold of the dark desert.

He found his mouth completely dry when he unconsciously licked his lips, breathing slightly shallow and violet eyes alight with something akin to euphoria as he traced the unassuming, calm expression in the picture.

There had been doubt before. There had been a lingering pessimism, a slew of low expectations, nothing but a hunch, but through the thick veil of uncertainty had emerged a small hope and the nagging question of _what if?_

In the small storage room of the Akatsuki headquarters, in the back logs of shinobi profiles stacked upon dust-ridden shelves, he'd come searching for a sign, some sort of confirmation for the shred of hope he held in the back of his mind.

He'd had his misgivings, but now he knew. Now, there was no doubt in his mind.

She was perfect.

* * *

Temari opened her eyes, finding herself looking into the blackness of the ceiling, sensing the back of her head throbbing with a dull ache against some hard edge. Her fingers tingled unpleasantly and after a moment she realized her limbs were asleep. An attempt to flex her stiff, numb fingers was met with a jarring, dismaying sense of weakness, disgust at her diminished strength eliciting a sour feeling in the back of her throat. 

As she slowly became aware of the hard surface pressing against her neck and backside, Temari eventually realized that she was slumping in the hard wooden chair she kept in her room.

Her eyes streamed with the effort to lift her head, fingers twitching by her sides, the back of her head lolling listlessly against the top of the hard, wooden backrest. A throbbing, unrelenting pressure pushed against her throat and she had to gasp to breathe, limbs torpid with exhaustion, leaden and useless by her sides.

She didn't know how she'd ended up in the chair. All she could concentrate on was the sight of the black shape perched on the foot of her bed, mere feet from where she sat, its eyes glistening in the blackness.

_No, no, no, not again, not this again_.

It cocked its head to the side, and suddenly she was more terrified than she'd ever felt in her life, wanting to scream and being unable to as the unrelenting pressure on her throat smothered her voice, reducing her to a state where she could do no more than manage shallow, hitched breaths and not succumb to unconsciousness.

When it spread its wings, beak opening to screech as its feet left its perch, she felt her useless, leaden arm move, a scream tearing from her throat to grab the vile figment and fling it away, to tear into its feathers and rip it apart. Her fingers closed around it, seizing and expecting to feel the crack of small, hollow bones, only to slacken in shock when she felt the distinct slide of soft, silken fabric beneath her fingers.

Her eyes widened in horror when she heard a familiar, sardonic chuckle, goosebumps breaking out violently against her skin when cold fingers covered her hand, prying it away almost gently from the cloth, fingertips brushing purposefully against the skin of her palm.

She couldn't see this, her wide eyes aimlessly searching the blackness of the room, futilely searching for his face. Her bare feet managed to move a minuscule amount over the floor, and a faint whimper caught in her throat as she felt them slide over cool grains of sand. In the far recesses of her mind, she sensed the whispering noise of torch fire flapping in the wind.

A zephyr of silken fabric grazed against her side as he circled her, feeling like a caress of thorns as it brushed slowly over the hypersensitive flesh of her arm. A moment of silence, and then she felt his voice caress the shell of her ear in a whispered greeting.

"Hey, Blondie."

Vestiges of a whimper started and died in her throat as she gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You're starting to feel it, aren't you?" he murmured, a soft undertone of delight lacing his words. "You're starting to feel _this_…" she wanted to lash out at him with every fiber of her being when he tapped her right temple. "_…_breaking down."

_Don't touch me. Get away. Stay away from me_.

A shudder of revulsion wracked her frame when he rested a hand almost comfortingly against her crown, tucking a few stray hairs behind her ear before settling it onto her shoulder.

The sensation made her want to hurt him in ways she'd never fathomed, cruelly and without reprieve. He seemed to sense this and she felt his growing smirk in the blackness, screwing her eyes shut at the feel of his grip tightening slightly.

"Get away," she managed to whisper, voice hoarse.

A soft snicker pervaded the air, fading into silence for a few blissful seconds until she felt his grip tighten slightly once more.

"That's the last thing you want," he said suddenly, the smile audible in his incorporeal voice. "And you know it. What do you want for _real_, though? What do you want so bad that it keeps you up at night? That when you dream, it's always of me, of _us_…?"

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter as he gave her a condescending pat on the head, as if coaxing her to speak.

"I want…" she spoke, voice hardly audible. "I want…"

"What do you want?" Gentle, coaxing. Cruel.

_I want to break you._

"Come on…"

_I want to hit you till you crack._

"Tell me."

_Till the silver soaks up the red._

"I can keep a secret."

She could imagine the expression on his face as he spoke, the twisted grin and malicious glint in his eyes, the venomous intent in the words despite the honeyed resonance of his voice. And more than anything, she wanted to tear that countenance to shreds.

Her heavy, numb fingers twitched before slowly rising from her sides, and as he continued speaking with fake amiability and gentleness, she slowly pressed her hands over her ears, pushing her fingertips into her scalp in an attempt to block out his voice.

On the left side, her nails dug into the soft flesh of her temple till the skin was rent beneath the pressure, and gradually, she felt the steady, slow emergence of hot blood running down the side of her face, forking into spider lines over the crest of her cheekbone.

His fingers curved over hers once more, a faint, admonishing noise sounding in his throat as he forced her arm back down near her side.

"Waste not, want not, Blondie."

His fingers cupped the underside of her jaw from behind and her eyes widened, lips parting at the barely tangible sensation of his mouth skimming across her cheek, susurrant words fanning out across the skin.

"You're full of bad habits…"

Then his tongue—jarring, hot, and pulsing—swept languidly over the crimson spider lines streaking her skin, drawing back savouringly before culminating in a breathless murmur.

"…_seriously_."

A choked cry of revulsion tore from her throat at the same time she flung her arm up, and suddenly the blackness exploded to white and the sensation of something hot and wet against the side of her face became frighteningly real.

Kankuro cursed in shock when she knocked the bowl of warm water from the bedside with a violent swing of her arm, sending it clattering onto the floor. Stooping to pick it up, he raised his concerned gaze to her flushed, perspiring face, her teal eyes reflecting a degree of fright that betrayed the state of mind she'd been in before waking.

"Kankuro?" she croaked disbelievingly.

"Yeah," he said comfortingly, leaning forward to touch her forehead. "Relax, Temari. You're running a temperature."

Relief flooded her face, features almost crumpling in the intense rush of emotion, but she forced herself to look away before Kankuro could notice the uncontrollable welling in her sore eyes.

Then suddenly, she became all too aware of that hot, wet thing against her face and reached up with trembling fingers, taking hold of it and wrenching it away with a shallow gasp of disgust.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, taking the wet rag from her shaking hand. "Gaara told me to play nurse till the doctor shows up."

Temari glanced towards the far wall, taking note of the time—11:56 AM—before the meaning of Kankuro's words sank in.

"Doctor?" she echoed, voice hoarse. "I'm fine—"

"Shut up," he ordered abruptly, pressing a heavy palm against her clammy forehead. "You're sick as hell. We could hear you moaning in your sleep, and when I came to check on you…" he paused, brow furrowing in worry. "You wouldn't wake up."

She stared at him wordlessly for a long time, subdued with a sense of dismay and compunction.

Her brother stared back, regarding her with tacit concern until she slowly closed her eyes in resignation, fingers slackening by her sides.

The doctor arrived ten minutes later and Kankuro eventually left her for the check-up. _Rather hurriedly_, Temari noticed wonderingly.

"Well, Temari-san," the doctor said, withdrawing the stethoscope from her chest. "Besides the low blood pressure, which I'm attributing to your sleeping medication, you're fine."

Temari said nothing, settling for observing him as he tucked his tools back into his carrying case.

"Although…"

She followed his troubled gaze to her left arm, and suddenly feeling chagrined, she pulled on her sleeve to obscure the bruised, mottled skin where she'd administered the injections.

"I'm aware of your current position at the border, and I know it's a stressful position, but please, don't overuse the stimulant shots," he said gravely, paying no attention to her surprised look. "They can have a detrimental effect on the body if used in excess. You should stay in bed and take the next week off, at the least."

"I know," she muttered, running a hand over her face. "Trust me, I know."

When he didn't get up to leave, Temari raised her head again, blinking at the sight of the envelope he held out to her. When she slowly took it from his hand and caught sight of the label on the front, he spoke before she could object.

"Kankuro-san has raised some concerns about your…current state of mind, Temari-san. And as it's my duty to make sure that all employed shinobi are mentally fit to work, I'm referring you to have a screening."

She dropped the envelope, clenching her fingers into trembling fists.

"You think I've gone crazy?" she asked blankly, voice shaking.

"Of course not, Temari-san. But from the symptoms your brother described…"

"What symptoms?" she interjected heatedly. "There's nothing wrong with me—"

"Talking in your sleep, he tells me, which you've never done before," the doctor interrupted sternly. "Acting anxious, paranoid, hostile. And your fever, which I think is a psychosomatic reaction to the stress you're under."

Temari wanted to lunge forward and strangle him, wanted to scream at him and tell him he had no idea what the fuck he was talking about or what he was dealing with and that her 'current state of mind' was a necessary sacrifice for the sakes of her brothers. She was not going crazy. She was not—

The doctor looking vaguely alarmed by the infuriated expression taking over her face, but did his best to keep his appearance neutral, glove-clad fingers sliding the envelope towards her again.

"Today at three," he said calmly, giving her a reassuring pat on the back of her hand. "Just take the slip with you. It won't take long."

Temari said nothing, eyes trained on the envelope on the bedspread, and a moment later he got to his feet and quietly departed from the room.

There was no refuting this. Following through with referrals for a psychological screening was mandatory when issued by a doctor, at the risk of being removed from shinobi duty. She had no choice but to obey.

Half an hour later, when she'd showered and dressed and ventured downstairs, Kankuro raised his head from where he sat at the kitchen table and gave her a fleeting look, avoiding her eyes. She walked by him without so much as a backwards glance, slamming the front door behind her.

Breathing hard outside, Temari leaned back against the front door, closing her eyes and willing herself to look calm.

Inside, she knew he'd done it out of concern for her, knew he felt regretful, but that didn't stop her from feeling infuriated. She looked up, teal eyes glistening in the glare of the sun. Narrowing her sore eyes against the harsh light, she lowered her head and started walking, glancing at the clock on the academy tower.

1:38 PM.

She still had plenty of time to get to her appointment, and after a few minutes of wandering the neighbourhood, she remembered what date it was. Today was the day the first barricades were scheduled to go up, and if that schedule was still in effect, it meant Gaara was at the border supervising the dig.

Pulling the fan from the sash around her waist, she waited for the next gust of wind and caught it, swinging herself up on the canvas as the wind lifted her in the direction of the border. From her vantage point in the sky, she could see billowing clouds of sand and dust already collecting on the horizon.

At the border, Gaara raised his head, glancing away from the piles of disconnected metal and scurrying workers up at the sky over his shoulder as a dark shadow approached from overhead. He relaxed instantly as he made out the three familiar circles on the fan.

"Hey," Temari greeted a moment later, dropping neatly into the sand beside him, snapping the fan shut and tucking it back into her sash.

Gaara eyed her from the corner of his eye, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the way her knees buckled slightly on impact.

"You were supposed to see a doctor today."

"I did," she answered, looking out at the workers. "I passed my physical okay."

When Gaara didn't reply, Temari glanced over at him, brow furrowing when she saw him staring at her with an unreadable look on his face.

"I'm fine, Gaara. I promise."

She made it a point to avoid looking at where she'd concealed the referral in her shirt. Inwardly grateful when Gaara finally looked away, she watched in curiousity as he raised his arms and called calmly over the wind.

"The first one."

Almost immediately, the workers retreated from a series of markers placed along a swept portion of the desert, and Temari watched in intrigue as they looked expectantly towards the marked area.

The landscape fell silent, the only sound in the surrounding desert emanating from the flapping of Gaara's robes in the dry, hot wind. He slowly raised his hand, holding it outstretched over the markers, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration.

Temari smiled slightly when the workers stumbled back with alarmed looks on their faces. The ground beneath them began to rumble and the sand stirring in spirals on the surface floated up into the air, the tiny grains vibrating.

A bead of sweat appeared on Gaara's brow as the tendons in his hands flexed, fingers curving in slightly as the rumbling increased, forcing more particles of sand to rise into the air.

"Move back," he said impassively.

The workers did as they were told, scrambling back, although Temari remained by his side, watching as Gaara abruptly swung his arm upward.

A geyser of sand erupted from the ground, the explosion so violent she staggered back to get behind him, staring at the enormous wall of sand that sprayed up vertically into the air and blew out from the edges of the markers, burying her knee-deep into the desert within seconds.

Gaara remained standing there, robes flapping violently from the rush of escaping sand and air as Temari moved farther back, watching him with a proud grin as he reached out with his other hand, keeping the sand surrounding the barricades' foundations out of the precipice he'd formed. Sand continued bursting from the ground for another minute or so, eventually tapering off, forming a massive brown cloud over them as Gaara slowly lowered his hand.

The workers darted forward immediately, gathering their equipment and preparing to drill into the exposed bedrock beneath the sand as Gaara kept the surrounding sand from spilling into the hole.

Temari approached and stood next to him, giving him an admiring smile.

"Nice job, Gaara."

He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, watching the workers start the drilling process.

"I'm only capable of doing this twenty-three more times before my chakra reserves run low. Then I will return tomorrow and do twenty-three more."

Temari nodded, lifting her gaze to look out over the border.

"Two months for them all to go up, right?"

Gaara nodded, and when Temari said nothing in reply, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

His sister stared with intense fixedness out at the oasis, teal eyes hard and narrowed, fists clenched by her sides.

Gaara stared at her for a moment longer before slowly looking away, returning his attention back to the barricade construction. Slowly, gradually, the first set of disconnected metal was erected successfully to the cheers and exultation of the workers, a towering black domino amidst a sea of brown.

Temari smiled grimly before clasping Gaara's shoulder and turning to leave.

_Only 1380 to go._

* * *

Half an hour later, a few minutes shy of her appointment, Temari emerged from beneath an overpass, heading towards the medical research facility adjacent to the hospital. She walked briskly towards the building, stepping over the flagstones to take a shortcut through the atrium. 

Her shoes grated over the sand as she entered the empty courtyard, each clicking impact of her heels echoing loudly in the silence. The complete and utter absence of sound was eerie, and she felt the urge to walk faster as her offending heels repeatedly filled the cavernous space with hollow clicks.

The pillars on either side of the courtyard extended high up to support the ceiling, granite leviathans made to hold up a shield against the merciless desert sun. The air seemed to grow colder as she kept walking, chilling slightly with each consecutive step.

It was odd, she found, her breathing growing slightly laboured as she quickened her pace. The courtyard had never seemed this long or empty before, and she attributed the sheer lack of people in the normally busy atrium to the barricade construction. No doubt, most of the village had headed out to the border to watch the awesome display of their Kazekage's power.

Somewhat lifted by this thought, she raised her head and slowed to a normal pace, trying to enjoy the peace and silence.

The back of her neck prickled and she mindlessly reached up to wipe at it, almost faltering in her step when her fingers came away dry. She slowed to a stop, standing still in the middle of the empty hall.

The only sound she could hear was her own laboured beating and throbbing pulse.

Vaguely, purposefully, she wondered why she felt so tense, when inwardly she knew the answer far too well, alarmingly well.

_I could come back during the day._

A faint tremor worked its way up her shoulders and she held her breath as the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Her hand descended on the frame of her fan and she suddenly whipped around, holding it defensively in front of her.

The empty courtyard remained as it was. Nobody came lunging in for an attack. Nobody was following. She was alone.

Swallowing, Temari straightened, hesitantly tucking her fan back into the sash around her waist. Furrowing her brow, she took a moment to glance around a second longer, swallowing dry air on a parched throat.

There was no one there but her.

Clenching her jaw, she willed herself to turn around and keep walking, keeping her gaze focused resolutely on the mosaic tiling passing in a blue blur beneath her feet. What she was thinking was improbable, highly unlikely considering the sheer number of people at the border. There was no way he could...

_I'd find you, don't worry._

Clenching her jaw, she walked faster. The pillars swept by in a never-ending procession of tall shadows, blurring with the mosaic tiling as she continued at her brisk pace.

Watching the convergence of the blue tiles and dark shadows beneath her steps, she became fixated by the continuous pattern, mesmerized by the constant, one-second gap between each pillar's shadow. Grateful for the distraction, she kept her pace doggedly, finding solace in the continuous patters sweeping by underfoot.

She didn't expect to be literally thrown out of step when the shadow of something jagged and dark appeared in the one-second gap between the pillars, disappearing and melding almost instantly with the shadows.

Stumbling to a stop, Temari whipped around, eyes wide and fists clenched tightly by her sides. She breathed hard, blinking as cold sweat beaded on her forehead, doing her best to ignore the uneasiness engulfing her as her narrowed eyes swept the empty courtyard.

Hundreds of pillars. Hundreds of shadows.

Breathing laboriously, Temari forced herself to be rational. She hadn't slept well the past few weeks, and the ambiguity of shadows simply must have been a result of her insomnia. No need to panic. _Walk_.

Convincing herself to be calm was increasingly difficult this time, even more so was forcing her gaze to remain on the floor. She walked even faster, her arms swinging from the momentum, heels clicking louder and faster in the empty hall.

The shadows retained their fluid-like consistency, passing by with reassuring continuance beneath her feet. But it wasn't enough. She _felt _something.

Lifting her head, she kept her gaze trained on the pillars to the left of her, watching them pass by in a blur with wide, unblinking eyes. She couldn't tune out the sounds of her ragged breathing and obstinate footsteps, ignoring how her eyes watered with the effort to stay open.

A draft caught against her right side and she turned her head to look to the right, jaw tightening when she caught herself looking between two sets of pillars. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, she felt trapped. Telling herself she was being paranoid had stopped working altogether. She walked even faster.

As she turned her head to look straight ahead at the end of the hall, she glanced askance to the left and felt the air leave her lungs at the sight of something black vanishing with fluid seamlessness behind a pillar.

A moment later, she saw it again. And again. And again.

Something black and billowing.

_Like the flaring hem of a cloak._

Before she knew it, she was sprinting, tearing through the courtyard as fast her heels would let her, tearing her eyes away from the innumerable hiding spots surrounding her and feeling suffocated by the sensation of something black and ominous bearing down on her from behind.

The sounds of her heels impacting against the tiles became indistinguishable from the rushing of blood in her ears, both sounds melding to form a deafening cacophony of blaring noise that endured all the way to the end of the courtyard.

She reached with both arms outstretched for the door handle when it came into sight, yanking it open with enough force to tear it off its hinges before disappearing inside and slamming it shut behind her.

When she raced up the stairs and burst into the clinic, when she encountered the surprised, vaguely perturbed expressions of the patients in the waiting room, Temari had no explanation for her breathlessness and her harrowed, almost terrified expression.

* * *

BP: 90 over 65 

HR: 67 bpm

Temp: 37.4ºC

Notes: Low BP. Possible direct result of current medication: 2 mg Lorazepam.

Temari stared blankly at the scrawled writing on the clipboard, rolling her sleeve back down as the physician took up the report and left the room, delivering it to the screening specialist. Inwardly grateful that the short physical examination wouldn't be put in with her permanent file (the prescription sleeping medication wasn't hers, after all), she relaxed somewhat, kneading her temples with her fingertips.

Held inside now for more than half an hour, she'd recovered from the impending panic attack that had threatened to overwhelm her when she'd burst into the clinic. Only now, after calming down and thinking back to what she'd seen Temari doubted it to be more than a figment of her imagination, a hallucinatory effect of the drugs. Nothing more.

The thought worked to calm her but that nagging voice remained in the back of her mind, directing her thoughts continuously back to the way the shape had startlingly resembled a cloak. Shaking her head, Temari pushed the apprehensive feeling away and stood when a nurse came in and directed her to the screening room.

She followed silently, taking comfort in the calm atmosphere, the little paintings and potted plants and dim lighting meant to induce tranquility. The nurse escorted her into a small dark room with bare walls, seating her at a cubicle before a blank plasma screen. Temari obediently sat back and let the nurse attach the electrodes to the corner of her eye, against her temple, and against the crease just to the right of her mouth.

A pulse reader that doubled as an external thermometer was clipped onto the index finger of her left hand and a pair of heavy headphones placed over her ears. Her right hand was left free to grasp the mouse attached to the plasma screen.

The nurse left after briefly giving her instructions and after a few moments of silence, the plasma screen flickered to life, casting an eerie glow over her features.

More instructions flitted across the screen and Temari paid them no attention, knowing full well what the test was about. A picture popped up, then, depicting a broom leaning adjacent to a janitor's closet. It lingered there for a good five seconds, letting her take in every aspect of the picture before more text replaced it.

_Rate the emotional impact of this image on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the lowest emotional impact and 10 being the highest emotional impact._

She clicked the number "1" displayed on the screen.

Then more text popped up.

_Rate the negativity of this image on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the least negative and 10 being the most negative._

She clicked "1" again.

A moment later, another random picture, this time of a glass of water flashed on the screen, followed by the same questions as before. The image after that was of a kunai, and in the five seconds that elapsed with the picture displayed on the screen, the headphones emitted a brief, loud, blaring noise into her ears. The flinch and spike in heart rate that resulted, automatic symptoms of the startle reflex, were recorded by the electrodes and pulse reader.

She knew that this would continue for an hour more—this rating game of seemingly innocuous images with the blaring noises coming unexpectedly and randomly in between.

The kunai disappeared, and her face remained impassive as the next image showed up.

A bloodied, mostly naked corpse on a war-ravaged field, dismembered, eyes open.

_Rate the emotional impact of this image on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the lowest emotional impact and 10 being the highest emotional impact._

She clicked "2".

_Rate the negativity of this image on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the least negative and 10 being the most negative._

She clicked "4".

The next image that appeared was that of a sunset, tranquil and beautiful over the desert landscape.

Temari knew the purpose of this test well, having taken it twice before, once when she was made genin and again when she was made chunnin.

The innocuous images were used as placating devices, luring the subject into a state of calm and relaxation, a state of blissful ignorance. Then the disturbing images would suddenly and unexpectedly show up, and the sensors attached to her body would record her response, including how hard she flinched, how much her heart rate increased, and how high her body temperature rose.

That was the main device in measuring a shinobi's ability to function with a sound mind, as the ideal, desensitized shinobi would have little reaction to whatever they saw on the screen. On the other hand, the rating scale was there to ensure that the subject wasn't completely unaffected by the negativity of some of the images, an average response being somewhere between "3" and "6".

Any subject who responded with an average below "3" wasn't normal, implying nearly zero emotional response to the images he or she saw. In those cases, further tests would be taken and their shinobi licenses could be revoked.

The ideal shinobi was neutral. Not apathetic or emotional, not sociopathic or sensitive, but somewhere in between.

Another picture. A dead child, cradled in the arms of her sobbing father.

_Rate the emotional impact of this image on a scale of 1 to 10…_

Do I feel little or nothing, like I'm supposed to? Temari wondered blankly, staring at the image. Will you approve of my answer? _Is_ there a right answer?

The numbers glowed out at her, the cursor blinking impatiently.

She clicked "4".

* * *

Following the screening had been a short interview with the specialist which she seamlessly bullshitted her way through, and the last thing that remained was the CT scan to check for any abnormalities in the brain. Results would take two weeks. 

The lingering fever she'd had since waking had finally subsided around 5 PM, and a small injection of the stimulant drugs quelled whatever weakness the fever had left in its wake.

Neither Kankuro nor Gaara had made any move to stop her when she'd left the house at 11 PM for her shift, Kankuro not daring to confront her after what had happened in the morning. She didn't know whether it was wrong of her to feel a vindictive form of gladness over his guilt.

And now…

Her brow furrowed slightly in the chill, a faint cloud of broken vapour escaping into the darkness as she slowly exhaled. Her wristwatch glowed in the darkness, acting as a beacon to the scorpions that skittered close by. It read 2:39 AM.

A peculiar sensation flooded her chest as she watched him sprawled casually there on his back near the oasis, one knee propped up and hands holding slips of paper that kept his steadfast attention. The feeling gradually grew more potent as she watched him re-arrange the stack, putting the first paper at the back of the pile before raising the next one higher to catch the rutilant glow of the flares.

She hadn't said a word when he'd arrived, too disturbed by the sense of relief and exultation she felt, too disturbed with recollections of unsettling dreams, thoughts of paranoia and questions of whether that specter in the atrium had been just a specter.

And in return he'd kept his silence, settling for entertaining himself with whatever it was he held in his hands. The fact that the papers had kept his attention for nearly half an hour spiked both her intrigue and concern.

It was a disquieting sensation, and she spoke merely for the sake of distracting herself from the foreboding feeling.

"What are you doing?"

He answered without looking up, his voice holding a faint note of distraction.

"What's it look like?"

Temari scowled, that uncomfortable, unnamable sensation only intensifying.

"If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't be asking."

Her voice seemed irritated and unsure when it carried to the oasis, sounding distant when obscured behind the sheaf of photographs he held. Hidan blinked slowly as if coming out of a reverie, lifting his gaze from the photographs only briefly to glance at her silhouette at the top of the dune. Then he lowered his gaze once more to the picture—_her_ picture—examining the way she watched the ground as she walked next to her brothers, her expression thoughtful, calm, relaxed. Blissfully unaware.

He shifted it to the back of the pile, lifting the next one in the stack up to the ruddy light, turning it and tilting his head slightly so the shot of her profile became clear. Violet eyes flickered lazily from the picture to her tense, oblivious form in the sand, a slow grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"…research, Blondie. Nothing interesting."

Temari eyed him uncertainly, somewhat unsettled by the vague response. Licking her lips, she strived to keep her voice impassive.

"On what, exactly?"

"You're talkative tonight. Warming up to me?"

Temari sneered, but then recalled the document Gaara had given her the day before, tucked within the inner pocket of her shirt. Withdrawing the folded piece of paper from her shirt, she scrunched it into a ball and tossed it down towards the oasis. He lowered the stack he held—photographs? she wondered—and glanced over at the scrunched up paper next to his scythe.

"Hirai Dairou," she announced as he reached over and took the paper, unfurling it before his eyes. "S-class missing-nin. Know him?"

"No," he said disinterestedly, sounding somewhat disgusted. "Jeez, talk about a face only a mother could love…"

Temari managed a small, humourless smile.

"I don't expect you to kill him, since then you'd actually be doing me a favour, but if you see him…" she trailed off, not knowing what kind of help she could expect from the likes of him, anyway, not sure why she'd even bothered showing him in the first place.

"Now you're asking for my help? You _are_ warming up to me."

The fact that she could hear the grin in his voice made her regret asking in the first place, but she feigned contempt, tone haughty.

"Scum like you benefit from the deaths of fellow missing nin. The fewer there are, the harder they are to track, so you'd be doing yourself a favour."

"Hey, I _want_ to be tracked. Death wish and all, remember?"

Temari fell silent, somewhat perturbed by his casual tone. He put the wanted poster out of sight, along with that stack of papers he'd been perusing, settling for folding his arms behind his head and staring at the star-ridden sky.

Silence reigned for a full five minutes, broken only by the faint flapping of torch fire until she spoke, asking a question that had been intriguing her since the day she'd discovered he was immortal.

"How do you know when you're ready?"

He gave her an inquisitive glance and she took a slow, deep breath before continuing, striving to keep her voice impassive.

"How do you know…when you're able to die?"

He remained quiet for a few seconds, the silence on his part somewhat alarming, and she was hardly aware of the way her fingers clenched tense fistfuls of sand.

"…You just know," he finally said after a moment, voice calm and complacent in the still air.

Temari's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean you 'just know'?"

"How do you know when you're in love?" he returned, tone wry. "How do you describe knowing that?"

Temari opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, unable to think of an answer.

"Yeah, it's like that, Blondie. You just _know_. You can't put it into words."

"I wouldn't know," she said a moment later, somewhat surprised at herself for the admittance. "I've never felt anything like that."

In response, he placed a hand dramatically over his heart, sounding injured.

"That hurts, seriously. You make it sound like what we have is nothing."

She stared at him for a few seconds in silence, face blank. But when she realized what he was saying and recognized the mocking irony lacing his undertone, her reaction was far from what she'd anticipated. Instead of smirking and retorting with a harsh comeback, instead of scorning him or sneering, she laughed.

The desert echoed briefly with the short, harsh bark of laughter that sounded slightly hysterical to her own ears, sounding like the mad bubbles of mirthless laughter she'd heard from a mentally ill woman in the hospital once while visiting her injured brother.

"What _we_ have?" she echoed jeeringly, expecting to hear cool derision and faltering as she became all too aware of the hysteria tracing the tremors in her voice.

He smiled languidly in the dark, resembling a serene devil in the rutilant light, his voice mirroring his complacency as he tilted his head to the side.

"Yeah, what we have."

Temari stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, terrified of the sudden onslaught of vulnerability she felt. The calm voice in the back of her mind got lost amongst the chaos of uncertainty and panic, telling her in ineffectual snatches that he was getting under her skin, messing with her, _fucking_ with her.

Unconsciously, her fingers dug deep into the sand, clenching tight in an effort to stop her from moving forward, from crossing that line and wrapping her fingers around his throat, severing his head from his body, shedding his blood. Her heart rate soared, blood pressure nearly doubled, body temperature rose, and for some reason, for some absurd, _insane_ reason—amongst the internal chaos—she felt a calm concern for the differing stats in her physical report at the psychiatric clinic. In that moment—brief, silent, seemingly eternal—Temari felt as if she'd finally lost her mind.

His voice brought her back, dragged her back from whatever hell she'd felt herself succumbing to, and for one short, deranged moment, she was grateful for it.

"I won't be here tomorrow."

"What?" she said blankly, finding her voice hoarse.

"Not until August or something." Still sardonic, but now he sounded vaguely annoyed, though not with her.

She found herself speaking before she could stop herself.

"Why?"

"Business and shit like that," he replied in distaste, but then his tone changed to a more ironic one. "You'll have to cope for a month and a half without me, Blondie. Think you can last that long?"

Temari stared at him, unable to think of a response as she processed this information. He wouldn't be back for a month and a half. The barricades would be up around the same time, or at least be close to becoming complete. Suddenly, a burst of unbidden hope rose within her.

Freedom, for at least a short amount of time before she had to encounter him again. Time for recovery. Time to _think_. It was more than she could hope for.

"I think I'll manage just fine," she finally replied a moment later, pleased with the way her voice recaptured some of its calm. "In fact, it'd be even better if you didn't come back at all."

In the red glow of the flares, he smiled. "That's the last thing you want."

Temari froze, fingers slackening by her sides.

_That's the last thing you want, and you know it. What do you want for real, though? What do you want so bad that it keeps you up at night? That when you dream, it's always of me, of us…?_

"You'll be here when I get back," he continued, voice calm, honeyed. Cruel.

She could feel her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and his words were hardly audible over the violent din of her pulse.

"And we'll have ourselves a little reunion."

Breathing hard. _Can't really breathe_.

Breathing harder. Pulse racing. Climbing. Thundering.

_Exploding_.

"What do you think, Blondie?"

"You're insane," she whispered.

"Just another thing we have in common," he replied amiably. "Like I said, we're not as different as you think we are."

_Playing with me, messing with me, fucking with me—_

He was standing now, taking steps backwards, slinging his scythe onto his back and turning to leave. She felt sick at the thought of him leaving her sight now, not for a night, but for a month and a half, all previous hope of rest and recovery dissipating like torch smoke.

"Wait," she said faintly.

_Come back._

He paused, glanced up at her.

_Don't leave._

Silence.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly as though to speak though no words came out. The space between them felt insurmountable in that moment, and for the first time she felt utterly helpless, completely dependent on another human being, on _him_—something lesser than a human being, for her well-being, her sanity.

It nearly reduced her to tears.

He didn't move, watching her intently, maybe smiling, maybe grinning, enjoying himself as she struggled to find her voice. When she couldn't bring herself to speak, he turned away once more, feigning genuine concern.

"Don't fret, Blondie. We'll have ourselves a reunion, remember? Try to worry more about what you're gonna wear, like a normal girl, instead of how you're probably going to lose your shit permanently while I'm not here. Because seriously…"

He glanced over his shoulder. "You won't be half as fun if you go over the fucking deep end."

Her lips moved but no words came out. She felt like she was suffocating.

He turned to depart with a jaunty wave, but then paused once more as if a thought occurred to him. "By the way…"

Temari stared at him, felt his gaze on her, and wanted nothing more than to run, to flee and hide and escape that penetrating stare, that wicked grin with its venom-laced words, that devil in disguise, masquerading in his own circle of hell.

His voice was lazy with complacency when he finally spoke, calm and cool with surety in the dark.

"Bet you look good in red."

Temari stared at him wordlessly, only capable of watching in silence as he turned his head and left.

* * *

_2 weeks later_. 

CT scan report: normal.

Screening report: normal.

Psyche exam: normal.

Work status: approved.

The letter fell from listless fingers, landing against the tiled kitchen floor. There would be no relief, she realized, no happiness or normality, no vestiges of either until one of them was dead. In the madness that had infiltrated her calm, detached world, her functional, practical life, this was the only truth she could trust.

She glanced down at the paper.

Normal. Normal. Normal.

_And yet I still feel like I'm breaking, sliding, and falling._

* * *

_River country._

The man stumbled back, tripping over one of his accomplice's bodies, his expression one of disbelief as Hidan calmly reached up and withdrew the kunai, giving it an appraising glance before raising his eyes again, taking a step forward.

"Do you have any idea how much that fucking stings?" he drawled, slipping his finger through the loop in the hilt, twirling it idly as he slowly advanced.

The nin didn't bother with a reply, lunging over his partner's body and towards the doorway, only to find himself pinned to the wall when the kunai pierced his cloak, embedding into the wood.

In a desperate attempt to escape, he withdrew another kunai from his weapons pouch to sever the cloak from his body, only to have the knife snatched from his grip.

A high-pitched scream rang out when Hidan shoved him back against the wall and grabbed his wrist, pinning his arm near the side of his head before driving the kunai through his palm to hold him there.

The man struggled viciously, severing the tendons in his hand in the attempt, only to have his head crack back against the wall when Hidan calmly picked up a nearby plank of wood and smashed him across the face with it.

"Calm down, will ya?" he said in an annoyed tone, dropping the plank when the man slumped to his knees, reeling from the blow. "And stop whimpering, you fucking pansy."

Blood oozed from the side of the nin's head when Hidan reached down and grabbed him by the front of the cloak, pulling him to his feet. A moment later, his hand slipped into the open weapons pouch, a smirk touching upon his lips when he counted the kunai inside.

_One…two…three._

His smirk widened.

"Perfect."

"I'll give you money," the man rasped, a blend of blood and saliva coating his lips in a bright sheen. "I'll give you all of it."

"I don't want your goddamn money," Hidan replied offhandedly, withdrawing the kunai from the pouch, scrutinizing the blades. "It'd be a lot smarter to start begging for God's mercy instead of bribing me, dumbass."

"What are you doing? What are you going to—" the man's words were abruptly cut off with an agonized cry when Hidan pinned his other arm parallel to his head and drove the kunai through his palm, making him immobile.

"Honestly? I'm trying a change of pace," Hidan said casually, tapping the sharp tip of the third kunai against his temple. "The mind needs a little stimulation, you know?"

He held one of the remaining kunai in his right hand, putting the last one in his left, stepping forward and onto the nin's foot to keep his leg immobile as he descended into a kneel.

"You see, there's this girl I know…"

A hoarse curse caught in the nin's throat when Hidan impaled a kunai through his foot, pinning it to the floor.

"And she's shared some pretty interesting advice on how to deal with heathen shit like you…"

The last kunai embedded itself with a satisfying _thunk_ into the cracked, wooden floor, effectively making the nin completely helpless.

Hidan slowly rose to his feet, looking at his work with satisfaction before raising his gaze once more to the man's face, violet eyes alight with excitement.

"Judgment awaits heathens ignorant of others' pain. And guess what? I'm the one who's going to be delivering judgment on your sorry ass, and it's going to be with a new, experimental method I haven't tried until now. Today's just your lucky day, isn't it?"

The man didn't respond, moaning low in his throat as blood continued oozing from the wound on his head, hands and feet purpling around the stab wounds.

"I'll admit it, I'm pretty conservative about my methods," Hidan continued, reaching out to take a fistful of the man's hair, raising his head. "I stick to what I'm good at, you know what I mean?"

He reached forward with his other hand, resting it almost gently over the man's throat.

"But I've gotta say—she makes her methods sound so goddamn enticing. Seriously, I just couldn't resist trying them out myself."

He pressed his fingers a bit more firmly around the nin's neck, smirk widening into a grin when he felt the racing pulse against the pad of his thumb, the flesh extraordinarily pliable and soft beneath his grip.

"It's a girl thing, you know?" Hidan continued amiably, taking a step closer till he was directly face to face with him. "They've gotta make everything so goddamn personal…take everything nice and slow…even with a kill."

He tightened his fingers slightly, feeling a thrill of excitement crawl up his spine when the man's pulse spiked beneath his hand.

"But she's seriously something," he said, voice soft with amusement, eyes lowering momentarily in thought. "You'd think girls would go for something quick and easy like decapitation…"

A soft chuckle sounded in his throat.

"Guess I'm more merciful than I thought…"

The man made a choking sound in his throat when Hidan abruptly tightened his grip, amazed with the way the flesh gave so easily beneath his squeezing fingers, his own pulse spiking and melding with the nin's, throbbing against his palm.

"I've seen them bleed out," he said slowly, watching his pupils dilate and face whiten. "But never choke. Always been too impatient for that. But now I'm curious…how does it feel?"

The man made no reply, wide eyes darting desperately towards his hands which strained against the metal embedded in their flesh, quivering violently with suppressed agony.

"Does it hurt?" Hidan asked, leaning closer to search his expression. "How much?"

He continued tightening his grip until he could feel the reverberations of the strangled cries, erratic pulse, and hitched breaths, all three melding to form an indescribable blend of sensation against his palm. He watched him intently, watched his eyes and mouth, searching for signs of how much pain his fingers were inflicting.

"So, apparently a lot of shit is happening to your body while I do this," Hidan said slowly, scrutinizing the man's purpling face. "I'll be damned if I can remember half of what she said, but it sounded fucking painful." He tightened his grip further.

"Is it?"

Blood bubbled up the man's throat, forcing itself out through his clenched teeth, running over his chin.

Hidan lowered his eyes to the blend of saliva and blood in disgust, reaching inside his cloak with his free hand and withdrawing a piece of paper, flicking his wrist to unfold it.

The nin's eyes widened when the picture was raised for him to see.

"Recognize him?" Hidan asked, grinning now, looking between the picture and the nin's face. "Looks familiar, doesn't he?"

A hoarse, agonized sound managed to escape the nin's throat just before Hidan scrunched up the paper and shoved it in his mouth, muffling his choked cries and stemming the blood flow.

"You're pretty damn pathetic for an S-class missing nin," he said with a grin, slowly leaning forward to whisper into his ear.

"Aren't you, Hirai Dairou?"

The man jerked violently beneath him, and Hidan squeezed till his knuckles turned white, the grin never fading as Dairou began to shake spasmodically, capillaries bursting and blooming red in his sclera.

"Jeez, this is just fucking brutal," Hidan laughed, watching the man's face turn blue with a mix of bemusement and amazement. "Must hurt like a bitch, seriously."

He absentmindedly ran his tongue over his dry lips, swallowing on an equally dry throat, breath quickening and eyes brightening with excitement. He wondered just how much it hurt, how different this brand of pain felt from all the others, felt enticed to experience it for himself. Wondered if she'd do it.

"Think she'd say yes if I asked her to?"

Hirai Dairou's eyelids suddenly drooped, eyes rolling slowly into the back of his head as his muscles continued to twitch.

The scrunched up paper fell out of his mouth, followed by a hot gush of blood.

Hidan tensed when he heard heavy footsteps enter the room from behind him, pausing in the doorway.

"Hidan, what are you doing?"

"Fuck off, Kakuzu. I'm busy."

"Hurry up. We shouldn't linger."

Hidan narrowed his eyes, smile strained as he applied more force, waiting for the erratic pulse against his palm to cease completely.

It didn't take long. A minute later, Hirai Dairou was dead, head bowed towards the ground with a steady stream of red foam trickling out from between his blue lips.

Snorting, Hidan released him, raising his right hand and flexing his fingers, marveling at how easy it had been.

Kakuzu watched him silently from where he stood, brow furrowing at the oddly pleased expression on his partner's face as he stood near the corpse, staring down at it while idly rubbing his knuckles.

"You haven't been yourself," he said flatly.

When Hidan didn't acknowledge his words the Falls nin continued, seizing the opportunity to expunge whatever was responsible for his partner's recent bizarre behaviour.

"You've changed ever since you started going _there_. What the hell have you been doing?"

Hidan didn't reply, now idly fingering the rosary around his neck as he stared down at the corpse, a blank, distracted look in his eyes.

"Hidan," Kakuzu said sharply, catching his attention. "Are you listening to me?"

"No," he replied flippantly, kneeling and pulling one of the kunai loose from the corpse's foot. "And I don't give a shit about what you think, so save your breath."

"You're disobeying Leader-sama's orders. I don't care what happens to you, but I'm not taking the blame for your bullshit."

"Who said you had to?" Hidan retorted, rising and taking a step towards the body.

Kakuzu stared at him wordlessly for a few seconds, and when he spoke, his voice was frosty.

"Don't make me incapacitate you, Hidan, because if that's what it'll take to stop you from screwing around and missing our deadlines, I'll do it."

He half-expected the religious man to ignore the threat, half-expected for him to laugh it off. What he didn't expect was for Hidan to slowly turn around with the bloodied kunai clenched in his fist, violet eyes nearly slit from the force of his murderous glare.

"Don't even," he said softly, something cold and lethal lacing his undertone. "Don't even joke about that, Kakuzu."

He took a step forward, and Kakuzu couldn't help but acknowledge the slight twinge of apprehension this abrupt change of demeanor was bringing about. The Falls nin stood his ground as Hidan stopped in front of him, radiating more unadulterated fury than he'd ever felt from him.

"What I do is none of your goddamn business, and if you get in my way or try and stop me…" Hidan clutched the kunai tighter, no sign of mirth in his eyes. "I swear to Jashin-sama, I'll fucking _kill you_."

Kakuzu stared down at him wordlessly, saying nothing even as he gave him one last, withering glare and turned, pulling the scythe off his back as he approached the corpse.

As Hidan grabbed a fistful of the corpse's hair and tilted the head back, Kakuzu spoke, his voice blunt.

"You've changed."

Hidan pressed the bottom blade of his scythe against the bruised flesh of the corpse's neck, a mirthless smile overtaking his features as he paused.

"You have no idea."

He gave a swift yank and Kakuzu lowered his gaze before leaving the room, the sound of gushing blood resonating gently in his wake.

* * *

Note: reviews seriously help. :D 


	6. Throes of Partition

Quotidian ch.6

By: firefly

Note: Okay, I lied. There's one more chapter after this. XD The supposedly "last" chapter got way too long so I had to split it into two parts, so yeah, count this as the second-last chapter of this fic. Reviews are enormously appreciated!

Also, warning: Most disturbing chapter yet. Hidan is a very sick man. :D

**The Throes of Partition**

"Where does discontent start? You are warm enough, but you shiver. You are fed, yet hunger gnaws you. You have been loved, but your yearning wanders in new fields. And to prod all these there's time, the Bastard Time."

—John Steinbeck

* * *

He opened his eyes to the soft, rushing sound of sand gusting over the surrounding dunes, finding himself on his back in a bed of the cool, coarse grains. Nothing was visible save for the black sky overhead, the endless expanse dotted with millions of stars. The sound of the oasis lapping gently against the sandy shore resonated quietly in the distance. 

A moment later, a drop of something warm and wet landed against his cheek, eliciting a hazy blink of bemusement at the sky and the utter absence of storm clouds. Another drop landed against the side of his mouth, and a slow, exploratory sweep of his tongue yielded a tangy, coppery taste.

Before he could contemplate where or who the blood had come from, a sound broke the silence.

"Are you ready?"

He blinked at the resonance of the cold, familiar voice, husky and quiet in its nearness, and lowered his gaze.

Icy teal eyes glittered back at him from within the cold blackness, the rest of her face inexplicably shadowed and undefined. Cloth rustled and a weight shifted against his side, and as he lowered his gaze he hazily realized she was straddling him, her knees pressing into the sides of his ribs and hands holding the cold, slick blade of a kunai against his throat.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to her obscured face, searching for features the night and distance obscured from him during their twilight trysts. Another lick of the lips yielded more of that coppery taste, and faintly he realized the blood against his face was his own.

Those indistinguishable features remained obscured, and for a long time he merely stared at the pitiless eyes, searching them, looking for a hint of hesitation, a glimpse of mercy.

When he perceived none, he found himself smiling, eyes growing half-lidded as he rested his head back against the sand. A moment later, his dry, blood-crusted lips parted, voice emerging soft and hoarse.

"…Do it."

The weight against his torso increased as she leaned forward, and for a moment he closed his eyes in contentment, feeling the familiar, increasing pressure of the blade digging into the flesh of his neck. Then her knuckles brushed the underside of his jaw and almost immediately he opened his eyes at the contact, something vaguely painful and akin to excitement clenching in the pit of his stomach.

A thought accompanied the electric jolt, trailing lazily after like smoke after a burst of flash fire. His numb fingers clenched a fistful of sand.

"Wait."

The sight of those cold, teal eyes growing dark with anger made the chill in his bones and surroundings dissipate, the sensation of his own blood stirring in exhilaration warming his frigid skin.

"Not like this," he continued, voice hushed as if they were in danger of being discovered, as if they were carrying out an act of utmost intimacy, an act in which words were not only worthless, but inappropriate.

She said nothing, merely glaring from behind that black veil, and he smiled slowly and reassuringly, reaching up with cold, numb fingers to take the knife from her hands. She released it easily, watching as he purposefully moved his arm out over the sand, dropping the kunai to be buried beneath the scattering, windswept grains.

Slowly, he brought his arm back, feeling his pulse throb almost painfully in his temples, throat growing tight with anticipation as he reached forward, fingers brushing over cloth and sand, searching until they encountered the warm skin of her hands. Purposefully, his gaze held hers as he curved his fingers over her own, taking a moment to relish the warmth before tightening his grip.

Those teal eyes had gone blank—almost uncertain, he thought—as he tugged her hands forward, forcing her to lean closer. The susurrant resonances of water lapping in the oasis and sand scattering over the dunes faded beneath the cacophony of his throbbing pulse, which doubled in tempo when he pressed her hands, palm-down, against his collar bone, eyes never straying from hers.

"Like this," he told her in a hoarse, clandestine whisper, silver vapour escaping from between his lips. "…don't want it to be cold this time."

The weight of her palms was heavy, eliciting a barrage of goosebumps against his chilled flesh as they slid upwards, the warm friction vaguely reminding him he'd lost his rosary, cloak, and hitai-ate, things that seemed insignificant and unfamiliar now.

His mouth was dry with excitement by the time her fingertips curved around to touch the back of his neck, thumbs criss-crossing so each digit pressed into the throbbing pulse points on either side of his throat. Her gaze was unreadable when he stared at her, mesmerized and intoxicated with the sheer force of anticipation as he held her wrists, tempted to press her hands down himself.

This was something new, something he'd been tempted to try since the night she'd first explained the effects of it. Her detailed descriptions painted an image of a rare, exotic fruit, one he'd been dying to sample after receiving an inkling of the sheer intimacy, raw brutality and tactile nature it implied. He wondered how it felt to be rendered breathless, wondered if the lack of air would heighten his senses and make him hypersensitive to every bruise mottled into his skin, every burst capillary, every spasm and every break and every dying heartbeat.

Most of all…he wanted the intimacy. He wanted the warmth of her hands and not the cold, unfeeling steel of kunai.

"Make it hurt," he murmured, grip tightening on her wrists. "I want it to hurt."

She gazed at him expressionlessly, unblinking before her hands moved upwards slightly and she suddenly shifted her weight, knees digging into the sand as she leaned forward, her growing proximity in sync with his mounting pulse. When she finally became still, her obscured, dark face hovered less than a foot from his, eyes as frigid as the biting wind.

He stared up into them, grasping her wrists, mouth parched and pulse racing, blinking as the ends of her hair brushed over his face, the cool breeze gently cajoling the strands into movement. The bed of sand shifted and warped beneath his bare shoulders, the chill of parched earth penetrating deep, though he felt none of it.

"Why do you do this?"

Her whispered voice seemed to reverberate from somewhere within his own mind, she was that close, tremors of desperation and misery tracing her undertone.

"What do you want from me?"

Four drops of blood fell against his face from somewhere within the darkness in quick succession, one after another, matching the throbbing beats of his pulse as the grip around his neck grew a fraction tighter.

_What I want is what we have, what this is, what we are_.

"What do you want?" she repeated, voice shaking now, teal eyes dark and glistening. Two more drops of blood fell against his left cheek, sliding down and leaving streaks of desaturated crimson.

The bed of sand distorted once more when he suddenly released her wrists, unable to resist the burning temptation of heightening the intimacy and intensifying the pressure against his throat, hands feverishly searching both cloth and skin for something to grip.

His fingers curved over the elbow of her left arm, squeezing with enough force to bruise, his other hand sliding between the wayward blonde locks brushing over his face. Clenching a fistful against her temple, he tugged until her hair draped his face and she was close enough to bite, the sudden increase in proximity heightening the weight of her hands against his throat and the throbbing pain accompanying it.

Through the harsh gasps on both their parts, the messy web of blonde hair that obscured her, the darkness of their closeness, he managed to make out one wide, bright eye, the lashes tracing it matted with something dark and red.

"Make it hurt," he whispered breathlessly, intoxicated by the sensation of her fingers closing around his throat, inebriated on the closeness, the intimacy. "Hurt me, you fucking bitch. Give me everything you've got."

The anticipation all but made him ache, eyes drifting shut beneath an onslaught of dizzying euphoria, tongue running in relish over blood-speckled lips at the feel of her nails puncturing skin.

Then her hands were squeezing, choking, hurting—_hurting so good_—and the sporadic dripping of blood against his face ceased completely, the sensation replaced by that of her obscured lips mouthing soundless maledictions against his skin, caressing his cheek like the beating of gossamer wings.

"I know…" he whispered in assurance, justifying her malevolence between hitched breaths, eyes closing in euphoria. "I know, I know…show it to me…"

Pain ensnared him, rolling over him in cresting waves, drowning him in ecstasy, and as black oblivion pressed in at the edges of his vision, he dug his nails into the back of her arm and clenched ruthlessly at the fistful of hair, feeling several strands snap as his head tilted back helplessly into the sand, words escaping in harsh, mindless whispers between heaving gasps.

"_Make me see God_."

Hidan jerked awake to the sounds of his own heaving, choked gasps, hands immediately flying up to his throat as he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm, wide-eyed and sweating, reeling with the sudden rush of blood to his head.

The bed at the other side of the room was empty, the deep hue of twilight illuminating the tousled covers and pillow. He couldn't bring himself to care about Kakuzu's absence, struggling to catch his breath and staring in blank shock into the darkness.

_A dream, _he realized disbelievingly.

Glancing at the nearby clock, he grimaced at the sight of the glowing, red digital display.

It read _3:23 AM_.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, slumping back against his bed, hands smoothing back his hair and stilling over his face, breath held momentarily as intensely vivid fragments of the dream resurfaced in his mind.

Eventually, he lowered his hands and touched his neck again, fingers lingering on his pulse as it gradually slowed to a normal tempo, tracing skin that should've been mottled with bruises, feeling the contours of cartilage that should have collapsed. Opening his eyes, he half-expected to see wisps of blonde hair entangled between his fingers, and released a slow breath when he found them devoid of the broken strands. He wasn't sure how to respond to see them shaking slightly.

Letting his arm drop back to his side, he idly fingered the rosary around his neck, staring up at the ceiling, mind beleaguered with an onslaught of thoughts and recollections.

He tried picturing her icy gaze as he'd seen it in the dream, but only found himself capable of conjuring a flimsy imitation. Vaguely, he recalled something about feeling wetness on his face, and a brush of his hand against his cheek yielded nothing despite the persistent tingling of ghostly sensation.

Breathing deep, he closed his eyes, brow furrowing.

_Seven days down…forty-three left. And I'm already like this… _

He opened his eyes at the sound of faint, sardonic laughter, then vaguely realized it was coming from him. Shaking his head and grinning in disbelief, he spoke aloud to the ceiling, voice husky from sleep.

"Gonna go fucking crazy by the time this is over, seriously…"

The grin gradually faded to a faint, whimsical smile, violet irises lazily searching the dark ceiling through half-lidded eyes. He wondered what she was doing at the border right now, wondered how she was coping with his absence, whether it kept her awake and besieged her with thoughts and dreams of him the way it besieged him with thoughts and dreams of her.

An odd, implacable ache vaguely reminiscent of regret started somewhere in his chest as he pictured her there alone, the feeling not unpleasant but peculiar all the same. Another snort of disbelief sounded in his throat before he wrapped his fingers around the rosary.

"Damn bitch," he muttered under his breath, moving onto his side and pressing his face into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut. "Got me talking to myself here…shit…"

Minutes passed in silence as he tried fruitlessly to go back to sleep, and when his eyes began to ache with the strain to keep them squeezed shut, he opened them partially and stared blankly into nothingness.

_She's there right now at the border, under that torch, tossing those goddamn flares…waiting for me._

Despite himself, he smiled slightly.

_And she'll keep waiting, no matter what happens. She'll wait for me till the fucking apocalypse. _

Following that last thought, a wave of comforting drowsiness blanketed him, quelling the unsettling uncertainty. Laboriously, he turned onto his front, nestling the side of his face into the pillow, tracing the bedspread and imagining the cool friction of coarse sand sliding beneath his fingertips.

"Wait a little more, Blondie," he whispered into the darkness, blinking hazily before closing his eyes. "I'll come back."

* * *

_Two weeks later. Sunagakure._

"…Rotate 14 degrees.

Switch to standard vision.

Adjust angle of inclination 6 degrees.

…Transmit."

A brief flux of electric blue light filled the dark room and illuminated the inhabitants' faces, dimming and fading almost immediately to a washed-out grey. Seated before the main plasma screen, transmitting footage from the first security camera installed in the barricades, the young technician held his breath and pressed gently on the zoom switch.

Behind him, a group of fellow technicians, the head of the security department, Gaara, and Temari stood by watching tensely.

"Come on…" the young techie breathed, putting the slightest of pressure on the zoom switch, watching the screen unblinkingly.

The screen continued generating static, the jagged, chaotic dance of lines accompanied by complete silence in the room. Gaara glanced at Temari from the corner of his eye, nodding slightly when she met his gaze briefly and offered a faint smile.

It had been more than two weeks since the first barricade went up. Today would mark Suna's first attempt at accomplishing mass border surveillance. Constant video footage would be transmitted back to the security towers in the village from cameras installed within the metal barricades, protected from wind, sand, and any form of attack behind windows of fire-proof Plexiglas.

And now, Temari thought anxiously, watching the screen unblinkingly, now would be their first attempt at getting it to work. The ghostly glow from the screen made the members of the tech crew appear ghoulish and discoloured, and Temari could only imagine the sort of specter she made with the harsh light illuminating the dark circles under her eyes and washing out what little colour that remained in her face.

Her grip tightened on the back of the techie's chair.

It had been twenty-two days since she'd last seen him. Sleep seemed to have abandoned her completely, and when she wasn't resorting to doping herself up on Gaara's sleeping pills just to get enough rest to function, she was pumping herself full of stimulants to stay awake during her night shifts at the border, shifts that now progressed unremarkably and without incidence.

The oasis seemed to have dimmed into a gaping black hole in the middle of the desert, the rutilant circles of light cast by the flares eerily bereft of purpose. The sand remained undisturbed, smooth and pristine along the border, the cold bite in the night air seeming to intensify at his absence.

For twenty-two days, she'd faithfully kept her post, ignoring the aching cold and never relenting in her search, tired eyes that were bright with synthetic zeal sweeping the empty dunes of sand. And for twenty-two days, she returned home each night with a feeling of sickening dread, as if he'd emerge from the darkness the instant she left her post, as if he'd already be in the village by the time she reached the house.

Multiple times during those nights, she'd stopped halfway between the border and the village, frozen with panic, suddenly torn between wanting to run back and wanting to run ahead, beleaguered by the possibilities of being too late on both ends.

And despite her moments of panic and sickeningly convincing delusions of being too late, the border remained empty following into the morning and Gaara and Kankuro lived through the nights in complete, blissful ignorance, leaving her breaking at the seams and struggling to hold herself together.

Resorting to pills and needles to maintain a faint, constantly weakening façade of normalcy became quotidian, and she took them without second thoughts despite the worsening, random bouts of pain she felt in her muscles and the hallucinatory effects that brought specters openly into daylight.

Twice, mistaking umbrages that were merely products of a muddled subconscious, she'd thought she'd seen him in the village. Four times, she'd thought she'd spotted him at the border. And three times, she'd thought she'd heard his voice caressing the shell of her ear before drugs dragged her down into a smothering, artificial sleep. The dreams, however, were constant, following her from her bed into the day when she was awake, blurring the line between reality and the unconscious fabrications of a disturbed mind.

It was now the first week of August and she was reaching the end of her tether.

Any day now he would return, and she was doing anything and everything to prepare herself for the possibility of their next meeting being their last.

"Ah, there!"

Temari was startled from her reverie by the excited exclamation, blinking when the grey static on the screen darkened and the distinct curves of sand dunes became visible in black and white. The group of technicians burst out in excited cheers and congratulated each other, and even through the noise Temari managed to hear Gaara releasing a long, slow breath of relief.

"Wait, wait, this is just standard vision," the techie said over his shoulder, grinning widely before returning his attention to the switchboard. "We've still got infrared."

With that, he flicked another switch and the image on the screen dimmed to a cooler hue, resembling a black canvas streaked with random strokes of blue.

"This way," he said proudly, pointing at the screen. "Even if it's dark, and even if the motion detectors fail, we'll get an image showing us anyone with a heat signature in bright red and orange. There's no way anyone can sneak by us now. Cameras will be pointing at every possible entry way, and anyone with chakra will show up on infrared."

With that, he spun around in his chair and grinned up at Gaara.

"You're guaranteed safety now, Kazekage-sama."

While her brother smiled slightly and thanked the young technician and the noise of celebration continued in the background, Temari switched back to the camera's standard vision, staring at the endless expanse of barren sand. If this was the amount of surveillance one camera could offer, then the installation of the rest would cover every inch of the border east to west.

For a blissful moment, brief and inconsequential as it would prove to be later on, she felt true relief.

* * *

Kankuro glanced over his shoulder at the setting sun, brow furrowing under the glare before turning back to stare dubiously at his discarded puppets and scrolls. 

"What's with you, all of a sudden, wanting to practice taijutsu?"

Temari managed a small, cynical smirk, amused by the instant look of vulnerability that crossed his features as he stepped away from his weapons to face her.

The day had elapsed in a hectic whirlwind of activity for the technicians and border constructors, and after spending most of her time observing from the sidelines, tense and high-strung from unused adrenaline supplied by the injections, she sought Kankuro out for a spar and found him practicing his puppetry alone near the security towers.

She felt it prudent after realizing she'd be helpless against the prowess of a missing-nin without the aid of her fan. Despite its morbidity, every form of death she could imagine herself encountering had to be dwelt upon. There were no what-if's she could overlook.

Stepping forward, Temari withdrew her fan from its holster and dropped it in the sand beside her.

"I need to brush up on my skills," she answered succinctly. "I'm not as good as I should be."

This was half-truth. The other reason was that she'd felt unusually fervid and uptight, finding herself experiencing facial tics and random, uncontrollable spasms in her hands and legs after taking the morning's injection. Most unsettling, she'd hardly been constraining the urge to lash out at someone in violence, just to be able to release the tension.

"Neither am I," Kankuro groused, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "When the hell was the last time we practiced hand-to-hand?"

"Never."

"No wonder this feels so damn weird…" he muttered before settling into a fighting stance, fingers flexing as he held his arm out in a defensive position. "Uh…how serious do you—"

"Fight to kill," she answered flatly. "Don't hold back on me."

A look of surprise flashed across his face, then almost immediately morphed to shock when she lunged at him, spinning in mid-air to land a kick at the side of his head. Cursing, he ducked and stumbled back, staring at her in astonishment when she caught herself and immediately assumed another fighting stance, eyes calculating.

"Come on, Kankuro, stop being soft."

"I'm not being soft!" he snapped back, rubbing his neck. "I just didn't expect you to get so serious."

"Start expecting it," she muttered. "I don't have time for anything less."

Regarding her curiously at the last comment, he said nothing and nodded instead, preparing himself as she made her move. Darting to the left, she released the pent-up, tightly wound energy of the stimulants in an onslaught of underhand punches, aiming for the vitals and digging her heels into the sand for traction as she propelled him back.

Kankuro surprised her by blocking and evading her hits with lightning-quick reflexes of his hands, his nimble fingers catching her fists and deflecting them to miss or land mere grazes against his frame. She took a shallow breath of surprise when he seized her wrist and pulled her forward, using her own momentum to drive a knee up into her abdomen.

Seized by the sudden urge to make some sort of debilitating impact and release the pent-up force straining against the tips of her fingers, she let out a guttural cry and lunged forward, taking the impact of his knee against her hip and shoulder-checking him in the chest.

Stunned momentarily by the blow, Kankuro stumbled back, only to land flat on his back when Temari descended and swiped his legs out from beneath him with a kick. Before he could fully realize he was down, she leapt into the air and somersaulted to gain enough momentum before bearing down with her heel, aiming for his head.

The kick skinned the side of his head when he rolled out of the way, the impact leaving a sizeable dent in the sand before she went after him. They continued in this fashion relentlessly for ten minutes, Kankuro eventually slowing beneath the strain as she picked up speed, ignoring the screaming of her overwrought muscles, driven by sheer force of will.

Another five minutes elapsed, and soon Kankuro was bleeding from a split lit, bruises blooming across his cheek. Sweat and her relentless assault had scoured the paint from his skin.

Temari hadn't bled yet, but bruises mottled the skin above her ribs and back where he'd landed hits, the skin of her face scraped raw beneath impacts with the rough terrain.

She felt none of it, clenching her teeth to the extent that her jaw ached, pulse throbbing deafeningly in her temples as her vision drifted between registering her surroundings as washed out and colourless, then suddenly and overwhelmingly bright and colourful, the vivid contrasts disorienting.

Kankuro no longer resembled her brother; his hair, face, and clothes were obscured behind the haze of rage-driven bloodlust clouding her eyes, hiding the familiarity of his features and rendering him a blank, faceless specter.

Circling him with her fists held out, she stared at his featureless face with fixed intensity, staring until sweat ran into her eyes and they stung with the descending coolness of sundown. The brightness of the landscape vanished without notice in the haze of her mindless urges to inflict_hurt_, and as the first searchlights blazed from the tops of the security towers, globes of pulsing colour filled her vision.

Blinking against the harsh glare, she squeezed her eyes shut momentarily to dull the sharp pain, then opened them again.

Then she saw his face, and stilled.

Wide, white grin.

Sharp eyes.

Winsome features.

Devilish intent.

The shadow of a curved beak spread across a matte backdrop of sand.

A beat. Then two. Then—

_Hey, Blondie._

Kankuro leapt back with a startled cry when Temari lunged at him with a high-pitched scream, the sound unlike anything he'd ever heard from her before. Despite his attempt to dodge, her nails managed to rake a fair portion of the skin on his neck away, the stinging sensation going unnoticed beneath the shock at her vicious attack.

He'd barely managed to stand upright when she lunged at him again, fist connecting brutally with his side in an impact that should've snapped a tendon in her own hand. Staggering away, he managed to remain upright beneath the agony and caught her fists when she came at him again, only to have her drive a knee into his side and take hold of his arm when he instinctively let go.

Screaming with effort, she flung him bodily across the sand, following the instant she released his arm, tackling him with every ounce of her weight the moment he'd managed to stagger to his feet again.

Winded, he collapsed back against the ground, wincing at the impact before he raised his eyes and blanched at her expression.

Her eyes were nearly slits from the force of her livid expression, lips colourless and drawn back into a vicious rictus of a snarl, blood streaking her cheek and running over her mouth. He threw his head to the side, sand spraying up against his face from the impact of her fist.

Before she could hit him with the other fist, he seized her arm and lunged forward, tackling her back into the sand and pressing every ounce of his weight against her in a desperate attempt to hold her down.

"Temari," he tried to shout, finding his voice croaky and weak from breathlessness. "Temari, stop—"

Her heaving breaths sounded harsh and grating in her throat, eyes alight with venom. Like a woman possessed, she wedged her forearms between their bodies and pushed with enough force to make the bones in his chest creak, another scream of effort and rage sounding in her throat, muffled behind her clenched teeth.

"Temari," he gasped hoarsely, struggling to keep his weight on her. "—the fuck's gotten into you?! Stop! Tema—"

His voice was abruptly cut off when her hands got free and immediately seized around his throat, squeezing with enough force to make his trachea and every blood vessel collapse. Choking, he reeled back, trying to tear her hands from his throat. Then in a last ditch effort, he swung his leg and caught her in the side, knocking her off.

More skin from his neck tore off beneath the unrelenting grip of her nails, and coughing violently he stumbled back, about to give up and run, struck with a horrible sense of awareness that his older sister had lost her mind.

But when Temari got to her knees, clutching her side where he'd kicked her, she suddenly doubled over and dissolved into a violent coughing fit. And when her knees gave out and she collapsed face-first into the sand, Kankuro forgot his apprehension and felt unadulterated terror take its place.

Rushing over to her motionless form, oblivious to his own injuries, he turned her over, saying her name repeatedly and feeling the blood drain from his face when he saw the stream of crimson dripping steadily from the side of her mouth. Her face had gone stark white.

"T-Temari," he stammered, slapping her gently on the cheek. "What's wrong?"

When she made no reply and the blood continued to drain with alarming consistency from her mouth, Kankuro felt a sickening weight settle into his stomach. Ignoring the protest of his muscles, he worked his arms beneath her knees and back, staggering to his feet and holding her tight.

Without hesitance, he turned and ran off in the direction of the hospital, leaving his puppets and her fan discarded beneath the glare of the roving searchlights.

* * *

_River Country._

Echoing _plips_ of dripping water reverberated throughout the hollow cavern, the sounds surreal and unearthly when played off the surrounding, slick rock walls. Eight wraiths stood motionless on rocky pedestals, transparent and wavering like a flickering hologram, save for one.

Every eye in the room stared in his direction, eerily fixed as their holographic bodies blipped in and out of focus. Another drop of water fell, unleashing a cacophony of echoes until the sound faded back into silence.

"You're late."

The voice was calm and devoid of feeling, but every member in the room was able to detect the cold anger obscured behind the nonchalant tone. The air was oppressive with it.

Hidan felt it and didn't care, staring back at the leader with reckless disregard, shrugging in response to his statement.

"It has been brought to my attention that you've discovered an occupation outside Akatsuki," the leader continued, hawkish gaze focused intensely on him.

"Yeah," Hidan admitted, tilting his head in an expression of apathy. "So what if I have?"

The leader's gaze darkened and there was a tangible rise of air pressure in the room, along with a barely perceptible shift in the others' postures.

"After this point, consider yourself freed of that occupation. You are not going back."

The finality of his statement was obvious, and the complacency with which the others regarded him reflected it. To question was to die.

A small, cynical smirk pulled at the corners of Hidan's lips.

"What the hell makes you think I won't go back?"

The silence following the question was stifling, and more than one of the other members shifted on their pedestals, wary of the danger the Jashinist was inciting on himself.

"Are you questioning me, Hidan?" the leader asked softly.

"I thought that was obvious, seriously."

Hidan blinked when the leader's hologram vanished from his pedestal and an instant later was standing directly in front of him, the rings of rinnegan staring piercingly into his own eyes. In the silent game of intimidation that followed, Hidan's humourless smile only widened, eyes narrowing as he stared back, refusing to waver or submit.

Though every member of the Akatsuki was bestowed with preternatural immunity to fear and pain, Hidan's brand of fearlessness bordered at the end of the spectrum teetering on madness. Immortality aside, he did not back down. He did not fear pain. He held the door open in invitation to death. Disregarding physical prowess and ability, this alone defined him as one of the most dangerous members of the organization.

The leader knew this and regarded him with cold, calculating intensity before speaking.

"You will not go back."

"If you've got a problem with it," Hidan returned, taking a step forward and bringing them within inches of each other, voice softening into a venomous murmur. "Why don't you kill me?"

They regarded each other in tense silence for a long moment, until the leader inclined his head slightly.

"How high is your pain tolerance, Hidan?"

Hidan didn't reply, smile growing fixed as his fists clenched by his sides.

"Because after I am finished with you, you will wish you'd kept that foul mouth of yours shut."

"What the hell are you waiting for?" he said recklessly, smile widening into a malevolent grin. "Don't let me hold you back, _Leader-sama_."

"I did not want it to come to this, Hidan."

"Stop lying to yourself, you bastard."

The leader paused, voice flattening with complacency. "Only fools invite punishment."

"Am I supposed to be scared?" Hidan asked with genuine scorn, disdain darkening his eyes.

The leader raised a hand and almost instantly the other figures in the cave vanished, leaving the cavernous space empty save for the two remaining. Nothing changed in Hidan's expression to show he noticed or even cared.

"Fear would be the logical response. You've incurred _my_ punishment, after all."

Hidan shrugged, preparing himself for the vicious onslaught of agony he knew the leader was capable of inflicting, and managed a contemptuous smirk all the same before the murk enveloped him.

"The only punishment I fear is from God…"

The flickering, holographic hand reaching for him solidified into corporeality, and Hidan closed his eyes and smiled.

"…and you're not Him."

* * *

Temari woke to the sensation of cold metal sliding over the skin of her chest, brow furrowing before she opened her eyes, squinting in the obscenely bright light. A white ceiling met her gaze, and a glance to the side revealed a man in a white coat she'd never seen before. 

Vaguely, her mind registered a beeping sound reminiscent of an electrocardiograph.

"Ah, you're awake," the man said with a relieved smile, moving back and slinging his stethoscope back around his neck.

Temari stared at him blankly, mouth parched and mind muddled. She felt inexplicably heavy.

"If you're feeling drowsy, it's because of the morphine," the man said a bit more seriously, a furrow marring his brow. "Temari-san, your brother brought you to the hospital after you collapsed. Do you remember what happened?"

Temari managed to work some saliva into her mouth to get herself able to form words, voice emerging hoarse and croaky.

"I remember…sparring."

He nodded, writing on a clipboard before glancing back at her.

"Temari-san, it's been four hours since you were brought in. Tests show an alarming amount of Gezderene, the stimulant, in your bloodstream. So much that, during your spar, your body's natural enzymatic functions started breaking down as soon as the drug was used up."

She merely stared at him, disbelief and the proof of the suspicions she'd been harbouring rendering her face utterly blank.

"Your organs are becoming dependent on the drug, Temari-san. Fortunately, it was only your stomach that reacted at the withdrawal this time." He regarded her somberly, setting down the clipboard. "If you use it anymore within the next two weeks, your other organs will start to follow. You may fall into a coma...and there is the possibility of death. Do you understand?"

Temari nodded, the motion barely perceptible from where she lay.

The doctor paused, then leveled a troubled gaze at her.

"Also…your brother described a…mental change in you when you were sparring. Sometimes, overuse of Gezderene causes chemical imbalances in the brain…hormonal irregularities. And even more rarely, abundance of certain chemicals will lead to hallucinations and feelings of uncontrollable aggression. Psychosis, if you will."

He paused once more, looking at her apprehensively.

"Do you understand now why there are strict regulations on the distribution of this drug?"

Temari swallowed hard, closing her eyes to fight back tears when he spoke softly.

"Because if everyone used it to the extent you did, they'd not only kill themselves, but their own friends and family by mistaking them for enemies. I am revoking your right to obtain anymore of the stimulants."

She could only nod, feeling incredibly sick, nausea souring the back of her throat.

…_they'd not only kill themselves, but their own friends and family by mistaking them for enemies…_

If it came to that, she never wanted to see the injections again. The doctor must have noticed her compunction as she thought of Kankuro, and gently patted her hand before taking his leave.

A moment later, both Gaara and Kankuro stepped into the room, Gaara devoid of his Kazekage robes and Kankuro holding an icepack against his face. Temari took one look at him and wanted to scream, wanted to rip the IV out of her arm and find that abhorrent son of a bitch who'd reduced her to mistaking her own family for the enemy, for making her inflict harm on one of the only two people who mattered to her. She wanted to find him and hurt him, kill him, tear him, rend him apart.

_Oh, God, her own brother…_

"Hey," Kankuro greeted her uncertainly, standing awkwardly in front of the bed as Gaara took a seat near her side. "You feeling okay now?"

The distinct look of fear and uncertainty in his eyes immediately brought her from a state of murderous rage to one of profound misery and sadness, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard again to choke back the tears.

A warm hand closed over one of her trembling fists, and she opened her eyes and glanced to her side, finding Gaara staring at her arm and the discoloured flesh at the junction above her elbow. His expression made her want to collapse in on herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered faintly, voice hoarse. "Kankuro, I'm…"

He shook his head, relief flooding his features at her tone before he crossed over to Gaara's side, sitting next to him and taking her hand. The sight of livid red scratches marring his neck brought a lump into her throat.

"Forget it, Temari. I…you know I don't like this—any of this—" he gestured aimlessly, helplessly. "You know I don't like what you've been doing to yourself, or the fact that you won't tell us what the problem is, but…"

At this, he paused, glancing at Gaara from the corner of eye, looking resigned.

"But Gaara has faith in you. He told me to have that much, and trust you to do the right thing…whatever the hell it is you're doing. I don't like it, but until the barricades are up…I'll deal with it."

Temari stared at him in surprise, before glancing over at Gaara. Her youngest brother didn't meet her gaze, merely staring at the sight of her hand in his, expression unreadable. For the first time since she could remember, she wanted to take him into her arms and embrace him the way she'd only ever embraced her mother.

In that moment, her love for Gaara deepened to a state as profound as the love she held for Kankuro.

As if sensing his siblings' gazes on him, Gaara spoke, voice soft.

"You are not going back to the border tonight, Temari. I'll keep my word and let you return until they're complete…but not tonight."

She'd had a feeling he'd say that, and could only nod in resignation, morphine dulling feelings that would have comprised panic and fear into vague uncertainty.

They remained with her until visiting hours were up and a nurse respectively ushered them out, assuring Temari the overnight stay was simply for observation. She could only nod weakly in response, desperate to drown in the delirium of morphine and profound, aching tiredness that reached past her bones and tugged at her soul.

Glancing out the window at the moon, she pictured the border, imagining the dark oasis and empty expanse of barren sand, and could only pray it would stay that way through the night. And if it didn't…

"Wait for me," she whispered, tired eyes sliding shut. "I'll come back."

* * *

_River country._

Darkness infiltrated every corner of the room, slashes of bright moonlight illuminating jagged bits and pieces of the interior. Silence reigned in the blackness, save for the soft, strained breathing on the far side of the room, muffled against the fabric of a bloodstained pillow.

Luminous green eyes roved the trembling, half-naked form lying facedown on the bed, head tilting to the side in genuine curiousity and bemusement.

"You're insane, you know that."

The strained breathing hitched with something vaguely resembling a hoarse laugh, agony deadening and stifling it into silence almost immediately.

Kakuzu slowly rose to his feet, padding over the floor to stand at his partner's bedside, staring in morbid fascination at the fatal wounds and lacerations marring his bare torso, blood gleaming like black ink in the slices of moonlight.

Every major organ had been pierced, lungs flooded with blood and heart rendered motionless. Skin had been torn and bones abused with the invasion of cold steel grating along their edges, piercing from front to back in various angles along his body.

The metal implements lay discarded and bloody on the floor, the blood already dried and flaking as it coagulated over the gaping punctures and weeping lacerations. Reaching down, Kakuzu grabbed his wrist, pressing his fingers to the artery.

No pulse beat against his fingertips, and yet the broken, battered body before him continued to breathe and suffer and laugh, laugh in a way that was disturbingly quiet yet hysterical despite the agony.

Shaking his head, Kakuzu turned to return to his side of the room, until the moonlight caught the glossy glint of what resembled a photograph. Pausing, he moved his gaze away from the injuries and glanced at where Hidan pressed the side of his face against his pillow, his obscured gaze seemingly on that of a snapshot held in his bloodstained hand.

The picture was creased and dented after the uncontrollable throes and spasms of his fingers, but the main subject of the shot was clear enough. Even from where he stood, Kakuzu could make out the face of Suna's current Kazekage and jinchuuriki, not bothering to hide the surprise in his eyes.

The uncertainty only grew when his partner ran a bloodied thumb over the Kazekage's face, obscuring it behind a screen of red, then the man next to him, and another man in the front, leaving only one figure's face on the left visible.

Lowering his eyes, Kakuzu stared at a disordered pile of pictures that had undergone the same treatment, the blood on the faces drying to a dull, desaturated brown, leaving only one face—always the same face—visible. It was a young woman.

Instinctively, the Falls nin knew there was more to this woman than what the status quo would suggest. This was not merely a matter of relationships and illicit love affairs. This was something else.

"What is she to you?" Kakuzu found himself asking, unable to hide his intrigue as those blood-crusted fingers yearningly traced her expression, caressing every curve of her face.

Complete silence fell as the strained breathing ceased altogether, fingers stilling against her face.

Then a moment later, Hidan brought the picture closer to himself, folding back the half with the Kazekage so only she remained visible.

Despite the state of his ravaged body and bizarre behaviour, the sound of his serene, murmured response disturbed Kakuzu more than anything else.

"…my salvation."

* * *

_Suna. Three weeks later._

Replacing her daily injections with a prescribed dose of vitamin supplements to undo the damage had been difficult, but it had been three weeks since her stay in the hospital and she could feel vestiges of her vitality returning.

Three weeks of being back at the border during the night, and still no sight of him. It was now the twenty-second of August.

Her nerves were frayed and sleep still abandoned her, but she persevered with renewed determination all the same. After the night in the hospital with her brothers, she'd given into her circumstances and let her behaviour evolve to full-blown obsession. Bouts of intense training comprised her days in the village, and every night that passed without him gracing the border, she only felt her mania grow.

There was no living and breathing without his name sounding in her mind like a mantra, no rest before faint recollections of his face crossed her mind's eye. And accompanying them, his voice—that coy, taunting voice, talking to her, eroding her already falling defenses against utter insanity.

Amidst all the internal chaos, she'd had no idea how to react when Kankuro told her the fellow patrollers were throwing her a birthday party. Gradually, increasing numbers of the patrollers were removed from their posts as more barricades went up and more cameras were installed. There were approximately only 120 barricades left to go, and considering their inward progression from east and west, the last would go up in the middle of the border.

Temari had nearly burst out in hysterical laughter when the engineer offhandedly mentioned that her positioning at the border was almost precisely in the middle. Eventually, she would be the only patroller left.

This revelation only incited relief. When it came to that final confrontation, she'd want to end it herself. Enough lives had been lost with Gaara's kidnapping.

In contrast to that, the issue Kankuro raised with her about attending her birthday party was not only frivolous and inane, but unthinkable considering it would interfere with her shift at the border.

"You're acting crazy, Temari. Can't you take one day off and enjoy yourself? Honestly, you look like shit."

"Thank you," she replied icily, polishing the frame of her fan in the kitchen, catching sight of her harrowed expression in the gleaming metal. "But no."

"Okay, sorry, not like shit, but…" Kankuro trailed off, sounding exasperated as he pushed his dinner away. "Come on, even Gaara gave you permission to stay home. You've never been around ever since you started going over there—"

At her sharp glare, he raised his hands in supplication, looking chagrined.

"I know, I know, you have to till they all go up. But…come on, not even one day? Not even your birthday?"

Temari stared at him blankly.

"What's so great about it being my birthday? I'm just getting old. Why celebrate that?"

He frowned. "You're turning twenty, stupid."

"Yeah, that's old."

Sighing, Kankuro rubbed his forehead before leveling her with a worried gaze.

"Please, Temari? It's the least you could do after…"

Temari froze, eyes roving instantly to the fading scars tracing his neck, and his expression became distraught the instant he realized what she was thinking.

"God, no, I'm not trying to guilt you into it for beating the shit out of me or anything. I was just—"

Temari shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose, thinking hard.

_Any day now…he could be back any day._

At the same time—

_But it'd only be one night…the majority of the barricades and cameras are up. He wouldn't be able to get by without detection._

"What are the odds…" she muttered to herself, oblivious to Kankuro's bewildered stare. "That it'd happen tomorrow…"

"Is that a yes?" he ventured.

Temari exhaled heavily, bowing her head towards the table before speaking.

"Fine."

Despite herself, she couldn't help but smile faintly when Kankuro laughed in triumph and clapped her on the back before leaving the room, hollering to Gaara that he'd convinced her. A moment later, he returned with a bag, thrusting it into her arms when she gave him a curious look.

"The other girls picked it out for you," he explained. "Said I was supposed to give it to you if you agreed to go."

Blinking, Temari stared down at the bag as Kankuro turned and left, reaching inside and grasping what felt like a wire hanger. Withdrawing it, she could only stare in blank shock when a red dress spilled from the hanger and draped her knees, the vivid colour a startling contrast against her grey clothes.

Her heart skipped a beat.

_Bet you look good in red._

The momentary lapse gave away to idle thoughts, and she shook her head before placing the garment back into the bag, dropping it to the side.

…_what are the odds…_

* * *

_River Country._

Recovery had been an excruciating, arduous process, speedy considering his preternatural ability to heal, but agonizing all the same.

Hidan didn't bother dwelling on it.

The stats regarding Sabaku no Temari had revealed perfunctory details like her location and date of birth, and he had been waiting for a certain date to arrive before going back. He'd been saving a surprise.

Descending the stairs leading from the hideout into the basement, Hidan strolled past torture implements, stacks of top secret documents, and what resembled a pile of Sasori's old, unused puppets.

Stopping at the farthest end of the basement, he opened another door and closed himself in, reaching up and pulling the chain on the red light bulb, casting a dim, rutilant glow over the darkroom. Various new pictures hung from the line over the multiple sinks, products of Zetsu's occupation as the Akatsuki's head spy.

Without lingering at the photographs, Hidan headed to the corner of the room towards a large, white compartment that resembled a mini refrigerator. It held Zetsu's private stores, snacks for when he'd spend days at a time in the basement, developing his photographs.

Descending into a crouch, Hidan pulled the door to the fridge open and fumbled past the bottles, reaching for the largest he'd kept stored in the back with Zetsu's permission. A slow smile pulled at the corners of his lips when he withdrew it, raising it to catch the dim red light.

_Perfect_.

* * *

_August 23__rd__, 10:07 PM._

"Temari-san, you really shouldn't look so grumpy at your own party. You'll scare away all the boys."

Temari raised her head from the cake she was picking at, aiming a tired glare in the young chuunin's direction. Alarmed by the look, the girl quickly left the table.

Wiping whatever remained of the lipstick the girls had smeared on her onto a napkin, Temari crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, watching her brother and fellow patrollers make spectacles out of themselves in their drunken attempts at dancing.

Gaara had dropped by briefly when she'd cut her cake at 8 PM, reluctantly posed for a picture or two, then departed for a series of meetings. She'd sat in the company of her fellow patrollers, falling out of the loop when she refused sake, ending up as the only sober person remaining.

The girls in the patrol group had forced her to wear her hair down and don the lurid red dress, barely managing to get lipstick on her before she'd snapped and barked at them to back off. No doubt, she would've enjoyed herself more if anxiety wasn't gnawing at her insides and flooding her with a feeling vaguely resembling chronic nausea.

Her shift would begin in less than an hour.

Glancing at Kankuro from the corner of her eye, she sighed in exasperation, taking note of his wide grin and carefree expression, feeling guilty at the thought of running out on him. One of the girls had let slip that the entire party was his idea, and she'd spent a good hour in her room before attending, sick with a mixture of guilt and nerves and aggravation.

_Damn you_, she thought inwardly, without any real malcontent. _Couldn't you have just left it till the barricades went up?_

The fault was hers, she knew. Kankuro was oblivious to the predicament she'd been in for the past two months, and only because of her refusal to trouble him with her worries. Sighing, she forced a smile at one of the patrollers who sat down beside her, willing herself to forget the presence of the clock.

Hours passed, the tightening knot of anxiety in her stomach only worsening when she caught sight of the time.

1:30 AM.

The wave of apprehension that washed over her literally left her feeling light-headed, and she had to clench the edge of her table to get a hold of herself. Thoughts of _what if?_ prodded her from all directions, the laughter and conversations surrounding her fading to a disturbing hum in the back of her mind.

_What if…what are the odds…what if…reunion…red…not until August…_

"Temari-san, are you all right?" one of the patrollers asked her, looking genuinely concerned. "You look ill."

Temari stared at him as if he'd grown another head, hardly comprehending his words beneath the string of apprehensions lacing her jumbled thoughts. Eventually, she found herself nodding, hardly even aware of herself doing so.

He smiled reassuringly, patting her on the back.

"You work too hard, Temari-san. There's nothing to worry about now—nothing can get by those cameras."

She tried to smile but it faltered into a strained grimace, fingers clenching into fists on the table. Seeing her expression, he laughed lightly, as if her concerns were silly and unfounded.

"Really, _nothing_ can get by those cameras, Temari-san. Just now? Suni-kun told me they picked up a heat signature near the oasis. Might be that weirdo who uses it to bathe, so really, nothing to—"

He was abruptly cut off when Temari leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over with a noisy clatter, eyes wide and heart racing in her chest. Kankuro glanced over at her in surprise, and she met his gaze briefly with wide eyes before whipping around to look at the clock.

1:57 AM.

The floor felt like it would give away beneath her feet.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Kankuro asked when she stumbled over the fallen chair, ripping off her shoes. "Where are you going?"

"Sorry, Kankuro," she barely managed to utter before dropping everything and tearing out of the room and up the stairs, grabbing her shoulder pack, fan, and boots. A moment later, her feet were beating up sprays of sand as she raced out past the houses, oblivious to the stinging cold of the night air.

Minutes later, she flung open her fan and caught the next gust of wind, leaping up onto the canvas, fingers gripping her shoulder pack till her knuckles whitened. Her cheeks stung from the cold and the impact of her loose hair whipping against them in the wind, but her gaze and focus remained resolutely on the row of dark barricades marking the horizon.

Adrenaline replaced the anxiety and nausea, and her stomach ached with something akin to anticipation.

_Fifty-three days._

An eternity to her.

_Wait for me._

The time it took to reach the border felt twice as long as it usually took, and by the time she'd descended onto the sand and sprinted over to her post, towards the flickering flame of torch fire, her nails had gouged crescent-shaped welts into her palms.

The jounin who'd substituted in her place turned at the sound of her landing, eyes widening at the sight of her running directly at him. A bewildered, vaguely alarmed expression overtook his features when he recognized her, eyes roving her hair and state of dress before stammering.

"Temari-san? What's going on?"

"Go home," she ordered, fixing him with an icy stare. "Now. I'm taking it from here."

Blinking at the sudden dismissal, he merely nodded and took off, leaving her to take her place by the torch. Feverishly, she searched her bag for the flares and pulled two out, yanking the caps off and flinging them in the direction of the oasis.

The black sand was instantly illuminated by the intense red glow, followed by another circle of light when she tossed the second flare. Heart racing, palms sweating despite the cold, she stood there breathing shallowly, breaths condensing into short bursts of vapour as her eyes swept the sandy shore of the oasis.

Nothing.

Swallowing hard, wincing at the pangs of frigid air in her lungs, she took a step forward, sweeping her gaze over the sand once more. Another step forward, then to the left, eyes straining and squinting into the blackness beyond the flares, seeing nothing save for the glistening, inky surface of the water.

Minutes passed, and suddenly struck with realization, she removed the digital watch from her pack, breath stilling at the sight of the display.

2:26 AM.

Breathing laboriously, she glanced between the time and the flares, brow furrowing. The last few times they'd met, he had consistently left shortly after 2 AM.

"Shit," she breathed, dismay settling in.

The circles of light cast by the flares seemed eerily empty, burning without purpose, and abruptly the cold temperature made itself known to her, adrenaline receding and goose bumps breaking out over her bare arms. Gritting her teeth, she moved back towards the torch for warmth, glaring at the ground in disappointment.

Overhead, the cameras soundlessly changed their trajectory, the dark blue hue of dead landscape gradually lightening in the recording.

Temari shivered as a sharp gust blew sand over her ankles and knocked her pack over, sending documents careening back towards the barricades. Cursing, she ran after them, disoriented by the sudden darkness as she left the comforting glow of her torch.

The papers were a stark contrast to the black sand, visible and still once the wind subsided. Breathing hard, wincing at the cold, she knelt and gathered them, trudging back to where her pack lay sprawled on the sand. Kneeling just outside the circle of light cast by the torch, she stuffed the papers inside, purposefully avoiding the sight of her remaining two stimulant injections before closing the flap.

Another gust of wind blew her unbound, wayward hair across her face, cheeks stinging from the whipping strands. She remained kneeling, waiting for the wind to subside, and as it gradually died down and the stinging subsided, an odd prickling sensation met with the back of her neck.

Motionless, she remained sitting there in the dark, blinking and waiting for it to pass, unconsciously clenching fistfuls of sand when it only grew more intense and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Without dwelling on the reason behind it, she slowly got to her feet and turned around, taking slow steps towards the torch, not stopping until she stood at the outermost edge of the light, staring down at the oasis.

The shadow was what caught her gaze first, eyes fixating on the sight of what looked like a long, curved beak splayed across the red sand. Then her gaze moved inward, recognizing it as the blade of a scythe, eyes eventually making it to the actual weapon and the sight of it in full view against his back.

She stared, numb as he raised his head slightly from where he was looking at the oasis, suddenly turning to glance up in her direction.

Her fists loosened by her sides, feeling the sand clenched in her grip drain through her limp, parted fingers. She no longer felt the cold.

Their expressions mirrored each other, recognition dawning on his features after a few seconds of staring up at her in silence. Temari blinked in the cool breeze, unsure whether she was hallucinating or not, but felt that doubt melt away when he took a step forward into the glow of the flares, gaze fixed on her immobile form at the top of the dune.

She stared back wordlessly, heart racing, unable to find a word to describe what she felt standing in his line of sight.

Gradually, a slow smile graced his face, eventually working its way into a grin before he finally spoke.

"I knew you'd be here."

Something in his voice snapped her from her thoughtless reverie, and almost instinctively she clenched her fists, eyes narrowing down at him.

"I had the same feeling about you."

Still smiling, he removed the scythe and dropped it next to a dark bag she hadn't noticed before.

"Decided to dress up for our little reunion after all, Blondie?" he asked, pleasantly surprised. "I'm touched, seriously."

Disconcerted, she took a step back towards the torch, still standing and taking notice that he remained on his feet, too.

"And in _red_," he continued in a marveling tone. "I've got to be the luckiest son of a bitch this side of Suna."

Almost immediately, she noticed something odd in the way he was behaving. Normally, where he'd flop to the sand almost immediately upon arrival, he now stood pacing casually within the circle of light, a swagger evident in his steps, gaze never wavering from her.

"Too bad I can't say the same," she retorted mechanically, though uneasiness engulfed her when he came to a stop, his smile tangible from where he stood.

"I wouldn't say that, Blondie."

Temari stared at him, a faint sense of uncertainty forcing her to drop all pretenses altogether.

"What did you do?"

His grin widened, and he finally lowered his gaze long enough to reach for the dark bag near his scythe, holding it out and raising his arm for her to see.

"Got you something."

"What?" Temari asked suspiciously, suddenly alert when she noticed him swinging the dark bag idly from side to side.

"A present," he answered, a tad too innocently for her liking.

She didn't reply, settling for fixing her narrowed eyes on him as he snickered.

"Don't worry, it's not a bomb," he added, rearing his arm back. "Catch."

Temari's eyes widened when he flung the bag towards her and she lunged away from the torch, rolling onto her stomach with her hands over her head when it landed.

A few seconds passed, and she cracked an eye open when the object inside the bag didn't explode. Scowling, she sat up at the sounds of his laughter, brushing the sand from her clothes before walking back to the torch.

Withdrawing a kunai from her pack, she knelt and gingerly prodded the bag, finding whatever to be inside rather large and solid. Biting her lip, Temari cut the drawstrings and hesitantly gripped the bottom corner, turning the bag upside-down.

The object fell onto the sand with a soft thump.

She stared at it for only a moment before reeling back in revulsion, a cry of disgust catching in her throat.

A head rested at her feet, giving the illusion of a man buried up to his neck in sand. Stringy, wet hair obscured most of the tumescent face, but the eyes—half-open and glazed—stared up at her through the dark, greasy tangles, the whites jaundiced and unusually familiar.

Recognition dawned on her as she took in the facial features, eyes widening in shock as she stepped closer to get a better look.

The flesh was stark white and seemingly etiolated, gleaming with peculiar, odorous moisture. It almost looked as if it had been…preserved. Her blood ran cold, eyes widening further.

"This is…"

"The missing nin you were looking for," he announced, sounding pleased. "Hirai Dairou, right?"

Temari slowly turned away from the head to stare at him in disbelief, utterly speechless.

In the red glow of the flares, the complacency with which he spoke made the wicked grin on his face appear almost demonic.

"Happy birthday."

Temari froze, eyes widening in shock.

For a moment, her heart seemed to skip a beat and a sensation akin to a cold finger tracing down her spine made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Any attempt at denying her date of birth was futile. With her shocked silence, she'd given him the confirmation he'd needed.

Swallowing hard, fingers clenching and unclenching uncertainly by her sides, she tore her gaze away from her pack and the injections inside, forcing herself to look at him.

"How did you know that?"

He cocked his head to the side, tone disturbingly light.

"What kind of a shitty friend would I be if I didn't know something like that?"

Wordless, she only stared at him.

"Where's the gratitude, Blondie? I cut off that fucker's head for you and kept it in my goddamn refrigerator for two months."

If she'd been any lesser of a kunoichi, she might have given into the urge to retch.

"Wanted it to be all nice and fresh-looking, you know," he continued, finally sitting down, resting an arm on his propped knee. "That seriously goes to show how much I care."

"About what?" she said blankly, voice faint.

He stared at her in silence for a few seconds, and when he spoke, all vestiges of mirth had left his voice.

"What do you think?"

For the first time, she truly felt afraid of answering him, resorting to taking her bag and fan into her arms as she slowly sat down against the torch. Silence reigned for several minutes, the air growing heavy with a nameless tension she couldn't place. His presence had never incited this much uncertainty in her before.

"Looks like you guys were busy while I was gone."

She raised her head at his sudden remark, then glanced at the barricades.

"How long before they're all up?"

She considered him for a few seconds, then finally answered.

"End of this month."

He made a faint sound in his throat that might've been expressing either admiration or disbelief. After a moment, he raised his head, voice plaintive.

"What are we going to do, Blondie?"

Her brow furrowed at his tone, fingers gripping the frame of her fan. "What do you mean?"

"About us."

She merely stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Didn't realize how much of a _bond_ we had until I couldn't see you. What are we going to do when the walls go up?"

A cold, sinking feeling started somewhere in her chest, descending to the tips of her toes and wrenching her insides. Before she could even think of replying, he continued, tone deceitfully imploring.

"I fucking missed you, you know."

"Stop," she said blankly, voice hardly above a whisper.

"Could barely sleep."

"Stop it."

"You missed me too, right?"

Temari squeezed her eyes shut, digging her nails into the palms of her hands to tear herself out of the deepening chasm of uncertainty and dismay his words were carving, soundless assurances repeating in her mind like a mantra.

—_he's fucking with me, fucking with me, fucking with me—_

Play the game, she thought inwardly, clenching her fists, eyes throbbing as she squeezed them shut. Play it and play it better than him.

_The crow's a trickster._

Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath before speaking.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't."

She'd spoken so frankly she almost convinced herself, and judging from his sudden silence it must have sounded just as convincing to him. A brief thrill at the minute victory relieved some of the anxiety tightening in her stomach, and she regarded him carefully, waiting for a response. He spoke a moment later, sounding genuinely bemused.

"Seriously?"

"I don't joke about these sorts of things."

"You're making this really fucking difficult, Blondie."

Her pulse quickened. "Am I?"

"I took an oath."

"For what?"

"To devote myself to God."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You."

"Am I distracting you?"

"A lot."

She didn't realize how reckless her next words were until the bleak silence that followed.

"If it's such a problem, why don't you kill me?"

Initially, he made no response, regarding her silently from where he sat as cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

"I might just do that," he finally replied, apathetically. "We'll see when we reach the finish line."

"When will that be?"

"Soon, Blondie. Clock's ticking."

Breathing shallowly, she swallowed frigid air on a parched throat, regarding him through narrowed, glistening eyes that stung from the wind chill.

Silence reigned for several minutes, and the moment she took her gaze away from his motionless form in the sand, she encountered the sight of Hirai Dairou's severed head lying a few feet away, staring at her with blank, tumid eyes.

Grimacing, she moved away from the post long enough to gather the sack and ease the head back into it with the tip of a kunai, painfully aware of the intense gaze following her every movement.

When the head was secure inside the bag again, she set it near the torch and sat down, glancing down at where he sat. Casting inhibitions aside, she parted her lips to speak.

"Thank you."

And despite the distance that separated them, she could feel his growing smile in the dark.

"You're welcome, seriously."

They both fell silent, and she found herself vaguely perturbed by the change in behaviour he'd been exhibiting since arriving. Where he'd normally talk for hours without pause, maintaining quiet for only minutes at a time, he now settled for a stretch of silence that spanned nearly twenty minutes.

Hot oil from the torch spattered the sand next to her with a hiss, an acrid, sickly sweet smell wafting through the air. Scorpions scuttled by her feet, stilling whenever the clouds obscured the moon, dimming the landscape to a drearier, greyer shade of navy. Breezes fanned the fire, filling the air with the faint sounds of flapping flames.

And the entire time she felt his gaze, watching her with fixed intensity, expression unreadable from where he sat.

Looking in other directions did little to distract from the unsettling awareness of his unrelenting stare, and briefly she wondered what he was looking for, watching her so intently. Questioning him would reveal her discomfort so she opted for equal silence, returning the unrelenting stare.

Although too far apart to establish true eye contact, both were acutely aware of the relentless observations on both their parts, and gave into the silence with abandon to memorize and contemplate what little they could see of each other. The only true sentiments and motives they'd ever express were expressed through silence, through the unspoken admittance that they both found the other worthy of contemplation, worthy of hours spent in the cold desert when the rest of the world slept.

Amidst the hate, odiousness, mind games, and lies, the fascination was constant and mutual. The allure was real. Genuine. Neither could deny that absolute truth.

Temari felt as though she'd been startled from a trance the moment the sun peeked over the horizon, the presence of the light suddenly eliciting movement from him. Blinking, she leaned back against the torch and watched silently as he stood and took his scythe, slinging it onto his back before glancing up at her.

It was always in these moments, just before he departed, that he'd incite her hatred to greater heights with taunts and mental torment. She waited for it, expecting him to break the carefully constructed web of lies he constructed every visit with that one debilitating comment, the one that would follow her and repeat on loop, pulling her profoundly, passionately, helplessly deeper in hate.

She expected it, and it was for that reason she didn't know how to respond when he finally spoke, tone mild.

"…I wasn't fucking with you when I said I missed you."

When she said nothing in reply, staring at him in blank surprise, he turned away and left.

* * *

The time it took to return home elapsed in what felt like a few heartbeats, and mechanically, hardly aware of the cold, she undressed and climbed into bed without taking Gaara's sleeping medication, unconscious before she could even get the blanket up over her body. 

The dream came to her like it had come every night since she'd met him, the ever-vigilant crow watching her from various places in her room, gradually creeping closer with every subsequent dream.

Now, it was inches from her face, standing placidly on the bedspread next to her pillow, watching.

She couldn't move her head even if she wanted to, her incorporeal body held still by the weight of something intangible and oppressive overhead.

Part of her wanted to recoil in disgust from the carrion bird, wanted to burn her sheets and stop breathing to spare herself from inhaling its vile essence. Part of her wanted to kill it, wanted to break its neck despite its passive demeanor.

But she did nothing but stare at it.

Her eyes traced the aquiline shape of its black beak, taking in the intricate, flawless coat of pitch black feathers streamlining its body. In such close proximity, each feather gleamed midnight blue, iridescent and surreal in the moonlight.

Black eyes, gleaming with eerie intelligence, gazed back at her unwaveringly.

Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest.

She couldn't breathe when it took a small step closer, pausing right before her incorporeal hand, staring at her almost expectantly.

_You're vile, _she thought, her heart pounding in her ears. _You're cursed, hated, and feared. You eat the flesh of the dead._

She raised her heavy, incorporeal hand, feeling her fingers tremble under the weight of numbing fear.

The bird suddenly inclined its head and she let her hand drop.

The sensation of smooth, warm feathers trailing beneath her fingertips came suddenly and with an intensity that made her cease breathing altogether. It watched her as she ran her fingers down the back of its wings, unperturbed by the contact.

She _felt_ what it felt, felt the subtle pleasure of fingertips trailing from the top of her head to the base of her spine, a gentle, stroking sensation. She felt its contentment, felt its complacency, and loathed it.

_You're filthy_, she thought, feeling its soft feathers taint her fingertips with unseen grime. _You're corrupt._

She raised her other hand, gently running her knuckles over its smooth, black breast.

_You're awful. You're all things bad…_

She paused, her fingertips resting against its throat when she closed her eyes and finally breathed.

Then her fingers seized shut and the hollow bones shattered with an audible snap, the smooth texture of the iridescent feathers slowly becoming wet and warm against her palm. Opening her eyes, she felt her brow contort into a glare so vicious it hurt, clenching her fingers till her nails pierced through the fragile barrier of feathers and skin.

_Even when my foundations collapse, I will traverse hell and transcend every human agony to end you._

She watched the blood stream over her hand, following the crimson spider lines with single-minded intensity and fervid promise.

…_I will end you._

* * *

Note: Reviews are extremely appreciated

* * *


	7. Reaching Terminus Pt1

Quotidian ch.7 pt.1

By: firefly

Note: After months of piecing this last installment together, this fic has finally come to completion more than a year after I started it. It's just…been magnificent, having you lovely readers humour my love for crack scenarios, and treating it with the same seriousness as you would anything else.

I'd like to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for being so supportive and patient. This fic has turned out to be the longest one I've ever written, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to complete it without your lovely feedback and encouragement. Thank you.

So here's the last chapter, split into three parts. As always, reviews would be love. Happy reading.

**Reaching Terminus pt.1**

"Ends and beginnings — there are no such things. There are only middles."

—Robert Frost

* * *

Clouds rolled leisurely over the horizon towards Suna, the blue and grey cumuli unusually dense for that part of the desert. A tinge of humidity descended on the otherwise arid landscape, hints of ozone detectable in the air.

As summer faded to autumn and the first of September approached, the biennial advent of monsoon season approached with it.

Outside the bedroom window, preparations for the storm were well under way. The streets resonated with hammer falls and the far-off echoes of drilling as tarps were placed over roofs. Sand was purged from drainpipes and gullies were carved out with shovels to dispel the imminent flooding.

Oblivious to the world outside her room, Temari slowly opened her eyes and stared blankly into nothingness.

_Clock's ticking._

In the silence of her room, the words resounded with harsh clarity within the confines of her mind, lucid despite the torpid meanderings of her muddled thoughts.

The light of dawn spilled weakly over the bed, highlighting the bluish black circles under her half-lidded eyes and the cracked, bloodstained skin of her lips. The pillow sank slightly as she inclined her head, drawings her arms closer towards her chest and slowly exhaling.

Vaguely, she realized she'd been covered with a blanket, and an exploratory sweep of her fingertips over her face yielded the sensation of grit and sore, dried skin.

The tear streaks had long since evaporated.

After their last meeting at the border on the night of her birthday, she had slept no more than three hours in the three nights that followed. He had inexplicably disappeared once more, leaving her to spend her last three shifts alone at her post, perplexity and worry stealing away her sleep.

A lump rose in her throat.

Her hand drifted back to the bedspread, aimlessly tracing circles in a feeble attempt to distract her from the memory of the events that had nearly shattered her the day before. As the image of the woman's lifeless face reappeared once more in her mind's eye, Temari forcibly squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists.

In her obsessive preoccupation with a missing nin who was miles away in River country, she'd let an actual threat slip past her completely.

She should have noticed the odd attire of the man that had walked past her on her way to the council building. She should have recognized the suspicious furtiveness and speed with which he strode past. She should have realized that the neighbourhood she was in was liable to collateral damage when, a moment later, a squad of jounins ambushed the area.

In a dazed fog, she'd turned at the muffled sounds of a shouting jounin, the words hardly registering when a barrage of kunai showered the area, one of the knives shattering one of the house's windows just next to her head.

The jarring noise of shattering glass threw her out of her stupor long enough to gather her senses, and before she could even turn to catch a glimpse of the fleeing quarry, a sharp scream rang out from within the house.

Without thinking, she broke the rest of the window away with the end of her fan, jumping over the ledge and into the living room. The redness was what caught her eye first, spreading with alarming speed past a coffee table, a vivid contrast against the tan-coloured floor, and for a moment she stood frozen, arms limp by her sides.

The realization that it was blood registered with agonizing slowness, an inexplicable sense of perplexity rooting her to the spot. It looked unreal—the house, the glass, and the crimson puddle seeping across the floor. For a moment, she felt convinced that she was dreaming again, certain that the dark-clothed missing nin was some manifestation of her fears and this entire situation merely a figment of her exhausted mind.

The faint gurgling that sounded from behind the table startled her out of her reverie, and as she moved inside towards the source of the blood, the floor seemed to give away from beneath her feet.

A civilian woman lay on the ground, pressing her hands to the spurting wound in her neck. The bloodied kunai lay discarded nearby. The sight was enough to jar Temari to her senses and realize no nightmare could justify the sheer agonized panic in the woman's eyes.

"Help," Temari whispered, almost inaudibly, eyes wide. "Help—"

She dropped to her knees, fingers prying the woman's blood-soaked hand from the wound, pressing her own down hard.

"Help," she continued hoarsely, raising her voice as the woman stared up at her in a daze, arms falling down towards her sides. "Help!"

The sound of her voice escalated till her screams for help mingled with the screaming of the children that had walked in on them.

She should have known the severity of the wound would kill the woman in less than five minutes. She should have known applying pressure wouldn't help. She should have recognized the blood soaking into her clothing as a sign of it being too late. But still she cradled the woman's head in her lap and still she screamed for help, until the gurgling lapsed into silence and the children ran out into the street, their cries fading in the distance.

Medical assistance arrived when the blood had already begun to coagulate against her skin and clothing, finding her sitting blank-faced with the dead woman in her arms. A moment later, Kankuro appeared with one of the medic nins, his look of grim concern falling on blind eyes.

She'd been escorted, silent and expressionless, back to the house.

"Are you okay?" Kankuro had asked slowly, carefully, when she'd stood motionlessly by the stairs for a few minutes, staring into nothingness. "I sent a messenger to tell Gaara about it—"

"Fine," she'd said loudly, blinking slowly before looking at him. "I'm going to go take a shower."

Kankuro's brow furrowed in tacit concern as she wordlessly turned and started up the stairs. She emerged onto the second floor and entered the bathroom, hardly aware of her actions as she stripped mechanically, remaining expressionless even as dried blood flaked off her arms and onto the tiles.

Standing near the pile of bloodstained clothes, Temari stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror.

Congealed blood dried and cracked against her bare skin, reflecting a rusty, brownish red gleam under the light of the bare bulbs. It splattered her neck and the side of her face, a heavy contrast to her pale skin, some of it drying in mid-drip between her breasts. More blood, almost gauze-like in appearance, coated her torso and most of her right thigh, itchy and smelling faintly of copper.

She passively listened to the soft, barely audible scrape of her loose hair against the dried blood as she lowered her head, feeling the parched ends catch on the red grit.

How do I feel? She asked herself expressionlessly, staring at her reflection. Do I feel nothing—like I'm supposed to?

Automatically, she reached up to scratch the blood where it had dried on her neck, pulling her hand back and gazing at the red debris caught beneath her nails.

_The crow's a trickster. His words have double meanings._

Hardly aware of the soundless voice in the back of her mind, she found herself replaying some of Hidan's departing words, raising her gaze to her reflection once more, eyes tracing the blood streaks on her skin.

_By the way…_

Her fists clenched by her sides, an uncontrollable lump rising in her throat.

_Bet you look good in red._

The mirror shattered, the jarring noise mingling with the short, enraged scream that left her lips as she smashed her fist into the glass, oblivious to the shards that rained over her bare feet.

A moment later, she felt the lump in her throat swell to the point of near suffocation, and she wasn't crying as much as she was just struggling to breathe, her breath hitching sporadically in her throat, shoulders trembling and body caving inwards, arms unconsciously rising to surround her middle.

The blood scraped against her forearm and her left foot slid back over the tiles, shortly followed by the right. She backed away from the shards of her reflection, fighting to keep her breathing steady and struggling to stifle the harsh, painful sounds accompanying it.

Her back connected with the tiles of the wall and a jolt of shock at the cold shot up her spine, making her legs give out. She slumped down to the tiles, sobbing openly now, curling her arms around her torso.

A moment later, she heard three hesitant knocks on the bathroom door.

"Temari?" Kankuro's voice sounded muffled, uncertain. "You okay?"

For some insane reason, memories of her screening test came to mind, along with the perpetual question asked of her and all shinobi expected to commit and witness murder and destruction.

_How do you feel?_

She felt the bile, acidic and bitter at the back of her throat as she grimaced and forced herself to lie.

"I'm fine…"

"…are you sure?"

"I'm fine!" she screamed, digging her nails into her sides, burying her face in her shoulder. "Leave me alone!"

She couldn't breathe. She was covered in death, covered in red, and her flesh felt like it was being rent apart as the blood and grime steeped itself deeper, burrowing and entwining into her skin, branching out with hooks and gnarls and teeth, burning like a second skin.

And still, _still_, all she could think of was—

_Bet you look good in red_.

Her mouth soured instantly and a moment later she was bent over the toilet, retching till tears formed at the corners of her eyes and every sobbing gasp felt like a serrated knife in her chest.

Muddled thoughts—nonsensical and repetitive and jumbled—streamed through her mind like a hemorrhage,

_I'm vile, sick, disgusting. Like him. Because of him. Because of no sleeping and every day—every day needles in my arm, every day pills and oblivions, every day nightmares and black birds. I'm tired. I'm worried. I'm _sick_. This is torment. This is violation of the nth degree. This is a rape of sanity. You're a parasite, a malignancy, raping me—feeding off of my sanity. Help me. Help me. _Help me.

Violent tremors wracked her frame as she lifted her head, swallowing painfully on a parched, burning throat, squinting through tear-blurred eyes at the reddish tinge of dried blood coating her body.

Another wave of nausea surfaced at the sight and she tore her gaze away, scrambling to her feet, clutching at the wall to keep her balance as a disorienting wave of vertigo flooded her senses.

She had to get it off. In every second that passed, it felt like the blood and grime were irreversibly sinking deeper into her flesh, a sensation that had her fingers straining to tear into her skin and claw it out.

Stumbling into the tub, she dropped to her knees once more and turned the faucet on full blast, thrusting both hands into the gush of hot water and furiously ladling it and rubbing it into the ruddy grime, paying no heed to the angry red splotches spreading over her arms.

The blood wore away beneath her scrubbing hands and hot water, yet a soiled, unclean feeling remained. Raking her nails over the unseen grime did nothing to relieve the feeling of filth, and just as her breath began hitching uncontrollably in desperation, nails drawing blood on her skin, she remembered.

Raising her head, she caught sight of the window and the outline of windblown sand accumulated outside the glass.

She pictured the oasis and she pictured him from more than a month ago, ladling up handfuls of sand and rubbing it into his bloodstained skin.

_It gets the blood out._

She nearly slipped as she clambered out of the tub, feet staining the white tiles a dull red. Oblivious to the pain of several shards of the mirror cutting into her feet, she pulled the window open and grabbed fistfuls of the sand on the ledge, stumbling back to the tub immediately and scattering the coarse grains against her reddened flesh, scrubbing it in brutally.

A hoarse, weak noise of relief and despair sounded in her throat as the sensation of unseen grime dissipated, disappearing into the drain. She continued scrubbing, furiously scouring every inch of her frame and face till her own blood surfaced beneath the ministrations.

Finally, when the pain of the self-inflicted abrasions mingled with her grief and the caked grime washed away, she slumped forward against the wall, bowing her head below the gush of hot water and giving in to the harsh sobs wracking her frame.

She couldn't remember ever cutting loose like this, couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so completely broken. Her chest ached with each hitching sob and the tears felt like saline fire against her reddened face, every inch of her aching so profoundly she made no attempt to stifle her sounds of grief.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door again and she ignored it, unable to think past her own anguish. No matter how long she sat there and despite her frequent attempts to choke back the sobs, the horrible ache in her chest only worsened and she started crying anew, unable to stop the shaking.

And when the sound of the bathroom door forcibly banging open broke through the perpetual gushing of water, she took no notice, only bowing her head further towards the drain, arms encircling her trembling body.

"Gaara, wait—" Kankuro's startled voice broke through the noise and a moment later the continuous onslaught of hot water ceased, the removal of the gushing sound making her sobs sound all the more wretched and pronounced in the silence.

She didn't look up, didn't care that they could see her naked and curled up in the tub. She couldn't bring herself to move.

A sharp intake of breath sounded in the stifling silence as they took in her huddled form, the burns, abrasions and mud covering her skin, and a moment later Kankuro's soft, pained voice filled the humid space.

"God, Temari…"

Then a hand descended gently on her shoulder and she reacted instinctively with a jerk, flinging her arm up with a muffled shriek.

A strong hand seized her wrist and forced her arm down by her side, and almost instantly she was draped in a soft, dry cloth, the fabric obscuring her trembling frame. A comforting, warm weight settled against her back, and when Gaara's voice murmured for her to calm down just next to her ear, it took her a moment to realize that her youngest brother had clambered into the tub behind her, and that the cloth draping her was his Kazekage robe.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders taut with the strain to hold back the new sobs rising in her chest, and the most she could manage was to bow her head and bite her lip so the tears fell silently.

Gaara wrapped his arms around her from behind, tight enough to get her to stop shaking, taking no heed of the muddy water soaking into the knees of his pants.

"Temari," he murmured, keeping his voice steady despite the alarming sounds of her stifled whimpers. "Calm down. Stand."

How far had she fallen, she wondered, when the mere idea of standing, of moving and living, seemed unfathomable to her in that moment. How far, when the most she could do was grip fistfuls of the robes, lacking the strength to bring her legs to movement.

This feeling of helplessness, of pathetic weakness made the despair double, and before she could slump forward in despondence Gaara tightened his grip around her, shifting so he could pull her up.

"Stand," he encouraged quietly. "Temari, stand with me."

When she finally managed to balance her weight on her quaking arms and rose to her feet with Gaara's assistance, Kankuro stepped forward instinctively to balance her, hardly recognizing this woman's face, unable to fathom that this was Temari, his sister, who hadn't shed tears in front of him since Yashamaru's death.

"I've got her," Gaara assured him as they stumbled over the side of the tub and onto the tiled floor of the bathroom, Temari resembling a limp rag doll in his grip. "Tell the secretary to cancel all my meetings."

Nodding reluctantly, Kankuro quickly left the bathroom, expression taut with worry. Gaara waited for him to clear the hallway before slinging one of Temari's arms around his shoulders, gripping her tight as he moved out of the bathroom, supporting her all the way to her room, where he carefully set her down on the edge of her mattress and sat beside her.

She held one hand out in front of her, staring at it through streaming, glazed eyes, willing it to stop shaking and feeling nausea and something akin to panic as it continued to tremble.

"Temari."

Gaara's calm, steady voice sounded distant and far off amidst the cacophony of nonsensical thoughts plaguing her mind, and he had to repeat it twice more before he could get her attention. And when she finally turned and looked at him, saw his face, saw him in simple black pants and t-shirt, free of his Kazekage attire, and saw the honest concern beneath that impassive mask, she felt a wave of desperation that bordered on hysteria.

"Not you," she found herself whispering, eyes tearing uncontrollably again. "Not you, Gaara. Not again."

At the slight flicker in his eyes and the barest hints of concern etched in his features, she felt her resolution double to mania. She felt desperate to hide him, protect him, keep him safe from any and all danger. He'd changed so much, he'd been given another chance, he'd finally become her _brother_—and she would die, she decided, willingly die to ensure he lived the life that up until recently had been denied to him his entire existence.

The blood of that civilian woman—she could still feel it, acid-hot against her skin, and the mere thought of having Gaara's or Kankuro's blood on her instead made her grow numb, made her forget the terror and despair long enough to look at her youngest brother and remind her what she was suffering and fighting for.

This is what you're protecting, she thought. This. This is your life, your family. This is what keeps you going, and you can't—_can't_—let him take this away. You'll die before you let that happen. You'll die before you let harm come to them.

She touched Gaara's face, features contorting slightly in suppressed, despairing determination, paying no attention to his confused, concerned expression, paying no attention to the way he asked her questions, questions that seemed alien and unimportant to her ears.

This crying, this weakness, this _bullshit_—she thought furiously. Stop it, suck it up and live for their sakes. Suffer for their sakes. Die if it ensures their safety. Die if it will take that fucking missing-nin with you. Die if you can save them. Strong, be strong. Don't cry, don't fall. Stand, fight, move forward and _protect them_.

"Not you, Gaara," she whispered again, voice broken and feeble yet still containing some semblance of reassurance. "I promise…never again."

Her brother had looked torn between confusion and apprehension, and she sincerely regretted the look of unadulterated fear that had crossed his features when her vision abruptly deteriorated to a white haze and she'd fallen forward, feeling him catch her and say her name in a tone she'd never heard before.

She had heard fear and worry. She had glimpsed a changed, mending boy, and remembering it now as she lay motionless in bed, a sense of renewed determination encompassed the overwhelming weariness, compelling her to rise to her feet and venture towards the window.

On the horizon, the nearly complete line of barricades splayed a bleak, dark line across the bed of sand, grey clouds billowing innocuously overhead.

The next meeting would be their last. Three barricades remained. There was only one post left.

The next time she saw him, she would be alone.

Temari raised her hand, pressing it to the cool glass and closing her eyes as the faces of her brothers rose in her mind's eye, reminding her again why she was doing this.

Yet beneath that sense of purpose, a part of her knew this suicidal mission was to sate her own hatred towards the one who'd snatched whatever facets of normalcy remained in her life. When it came to that final confrontation, she wanted to see him bleed for her and her alone.

"I'll die for them," she murmured, breath fogging on the cold glass. "But taking you with me is what will make it all worth it."

* * *

The picture on monitor 17 generated static as the camera slowly changed trajectory, sweeping slowly across the empty landscape. A lone guardsman stood watch at the single remaining post, dead centre in the space reserved for the three remaining walls to go up.

An hour remained in his shift. Then it would be her turn.

Temari didn't let her gaze stray from the screen, counting the perpetual ticks of the clock, the only sound in the otherwise silent surveillance room. A moment later, the door clicked open behind her, the faces of the arrivals reflected in the numerous surveillance screens. She couldn't bring herself to turn around and face them.

"Tonight is the last night of your patrol duty."

Temari didn't answer, afraid of meeting her brothers' gazes, focusing on the camera transmission instead.

"You don't have to go," Gaara said a moment later, the sound of his voice eliciting a painful ache in her chest.

She said nothing for a long time, steeling herself and forcing her features to look impassive before she finally turned away from the screen.

Gaara and Kankuro's expressions alone were almost enough to drag her back into the profound state of sorrow and misery she'd dredged herself in hours before, and the pain instilled by her nails digging into her palms remained the only thing distracting her from the impending breakdown.

"You said it yourself," she said, managing to sound calm and reassuring. "It's my last night. All the cameras are up. I'll just get it over with."

Kankuro gazed at her doubtfully.

"But still, you don't have to. Just stay here, we can send someone else in for you."

Her faint smile grew rigid, nails digging harder into her palms.

"It'll be fine," she said automatically. "Don't worry so much, Kankuro."

"How can you tell me not to worry, after what happened last night?" Kankuro retorted heatedly. "You can't just—"

He abruptly fell silent when Gaara raised his hand, her youngest brother sparing her an unreadable look.

"This is your last night." He paused. "You won't go back after this one."

"I won't," she repeated. "The last barricades go up tomorrow, and then the monsoon hits. There'll be no point in going back after that."

Gaara stared at her silently for several moments, and for each passing second he looked at her, Temari felt her resolve wane, eyes misting uncontrollably. She nearly breathed in relief when he finally looked away.

"Go, then."

Temari took a step forward, heart beating frantically in her chest as both brothers turned to go back through the door. It seemed unfathomable that this could be the very last time she'd see them, and the tears she held in restraint nearly escaped when she reached out.

"Wait."

They paused, turning to glance at her.

She didn't want it to end like this. She'd hoped to have at least given each of them a hug before she left. She'd wanted their last conversation to hold some semblance of meaning, of lasting impact.

But doing either would have alerted them to her intent, and she couldn't risk that. Not now.

"Just…don't wait up," she said thickly, forcing a faltering smile. "Okay?"

"And you be careful," Kankuro returned, gaze intent. "Okay?"

She nodded, and a moment later, she found herself alone once more in the surveillance room. Releasing a slow breath, she picked up her bag, sparing the door her brothers had departed through one last glance before she left the building, emerging into the frigid night air.

The nightly journey had become so routine she was hardly aware of herself snapping open her fan and catching a gust of wind, barely conscious of her surroundings until she was airborne, cruising over the desert and towards the barricades.

When she arrived, a lone torch flickered in the black expanse below, the area eerily bereft of the light and fellow jounins she'd come to know during the past months. The quiet impact of her feet against the sand sounded all the more pronounced in the silence, catching the remaining patroller's attention.

"Hello, Temari-san," he greeted tiredly, looking grateful for her appearance. "Bet you can't wait to get this one over with, huh?"

She gave him a faint, strained smile.

"You have no idea."

Without much further preamble, the jounin bid her goodbye, taking off westward and back towards the village. Temari watched him go, feeling eerily calm despite being completely alone, arms limp by her sides.

Mechanically, she trudged through the sand to the single torch, taking her spot under it and withdrawing a flare from her pack. Habitually, she lit and tossed it without even looking, well-aware by now where the oasis was. As her hand slipped back inside the pack to grip a kunai, her fingers instead found a plastic casing, tensing when she realized what it was.

Removing it, Temari slowly pried off the lid, staring expressionlessly at the last stimulant injection remaining inside.

Her fingers twitched, touching the tube of the syringe, eventually closing around the slim handle. Just as she was about to remove it, a voice broke the silence.

"Just you and me this time, huh?"

Temari dropped the plastic casing back into her bag, dumbfounded when she raised her head and saw him standing in the circle of red light, scythe already discarded in the sand. For a moment, she couldn't speak, a cold, unreal sensation of dread rooting her to the spot.

"I know, I'm early," he continued when she didn't reply, sitting down near his scythe. "But I figured I owed you some extra time, not showing up the past three days and all."

Temari merely stared at him, lips parting soundlessly in shock.

She wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting upon his arrival, but none of her predications had included him behaving as if they were carrying on as per normal. He had to know this would be their last meeting.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he finally demanded, after her prolonged silence.

"What are you doing?" she managed to get out, anger slowly replacing the uncertainty. "What are you trying to do?"

"I don't know, almost seems like I'm trying to start a conversation," he replied sardonically. "What the hell do you think?"

Temari glared, fists clenching by her sides.

"If this is another one of your mind games, I'm not falling for it. Let's just get this over with."

He stared at her, momentarily silent.

"This is the last day anyone patrols the border," she continued, unaware of just how shrill her voice had become. "This is your last chance."

"For what?" he asked, nonchalant.

"For what?" she echoed disbelievingly, a derisive laugh escaping her lips, sounding almost hysterical. "We're alone, you bastard. What more incentive do you need?"

"Something you're trying to tell me, Blondie?" he asked, the smirk evident in his tone. "Want me to come over there that badly, do you? And as for us being alone…"

He trailed off, glancing behind her. She followed his gaze, eyes darting towards the plexiglas square obscuring the camera in the barricade next to her, her gaze irrevocably straying to the miniscule red light indicative of the recording.

He grinned, waving jauntily at the camera.

"I seriously hope you guys are getting my good side."

"There's a monsoon due to hit by tomorrow," she interrupted, mind racing, a faint ringing in her ears as she clutched the frame of her fan. "No one will enter or leave Suna for five days unless they plan on drowning themselves. You won't get another chance once the last barricades go up."

Her heart thudded in painful anticipation as she tensed, readying herself to fight, waiting for the moment he reached for his scythe.

Instead, he merely canted his head, arms remaining by his sides.

"I thought I told you in the beginning," he suddenly said, tone amused. "I'm not gonna do anything."

"Then why are you even here?" she demanded, no longer caring about the rules. "Why did you come back?"

"Use your fucking brain," he said, tapping his temple, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Ever think that maybe it's because I just like you?"

"You're full of shit," she spat caustically. "You and I both know why you're here."

"Oh yeah? Enlighten me."

"I shouldn't have to," she said bitterly. "Why else would you be here, besides the obvious reason?"

"Wait, wait, wait," he interjected, sounding both amused and mockingly surprised. "You think I'm here to kill you or something? _You_? Why the hell would I wanna do that?"

She didn't reply, glaring hatefully at him over the shawl as he laughed.

"Seriously, you're the last person I wanna kill, Blondie. Feel special."

"Then why," she said, voice low with barely constrained anger. "Why are you here?"

He smiled, eyes narrowing into a squint in the lambent red light.

"Maybe," he said lightly, casually, "I just wanna finish what Sasori and Deidara started."

Temari leapt to her feet, sand spraying up behind her strides as she unthinkingly advanced forward several steps, the transmitter emitting a high-pitched squeal into her ears as she skidded to a stop, just before the border line.

Breathing hard, clenching the fan so hard her knuckles whitened, she pinned him with the most withering glare she could muster, words escaping her in a snarl.

"You touch my brothers and I'll rip your goddamn head off."

Forcing herself to stay behind the line became all the more difficult when he burst into laughter, the sounds harsh and grating in the barren landscape, sending a shiver down her spine despite the distance.

"It's fucking ridiculous how easy it is to piss you off," he managed to get out after a moment, breathless from laughter. "You take everything so damn seriously. And—and what really gets me is that you think you'd actually be able to _stop_ me."

"Try me," she gritted out, veins standing out in the back of her hand as she clutched the frame of the fan. "You have no idea what I'd do to you."

"Then give me an idea," he replied, tilting his head up at her, stretching out a hand invitingly. "Come over and show me."

Unthinkingly, she took another step forward, pausing only when the transmitter erupted with a second high-pitched squeal. She tore it off and threw it into the sand, well aware that the camera behind her had detected the motion and was now focused solely on her movement.

A cold smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, eyes narrowing in increasing amusement as she hesitated, his fingers flexing in a mocking, beckoning gesture.

Gradually, her rage dissipated into barely constrained fury, fingers curling into trembling fists.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Do I need a reason?" he retorted, dropping his arm. "Maybe I just like fucking with you."

"Is that why you're here?" she snapped. "Just to torment me?"

"Gimme a break. You're not that special."

"Then why?" she finally burst out, voice bordering on a shriek as she flung her fan to the ground, advancing till she was over the line, over the border and in his terrain, no longer caring about protocol. "Why are you here, if not to kill me? Why the hell _are you here_, you son of a bitch?"

It would have been a relief if he'd reacted as she was expecting and killed her for crossing the line. It would have satisfied her to know that at least she'd been right about his motives if he hurt her, if he took advantage of the fact that she'd given him reason to react without fear of reprisal from the other side.

But her bewilderment doubled when he merely sat there, unmoving, staring up at her in silence.

Breathing hard, she remained still, waiting for a response, disregarding the fact that she was weaponless. At this point, all she wanted was to know why.

After a long stretch of silence, he finally moved, and her heart thudded deafeningly in her ears when he slowly stood up, dragging his scythe up with him. It didn't even occur to her to try and reach for her fan. She could only stare, transfixed.

"Honestly?" he finally replied, lazily. "I only came here to tell you something."

Her eyes widened when he turned to leave, glancing up at her over his shoulder. He spared a look towards the camera before stepping away from the circle of light.

"I'll be back one more time…when it'll really be just you and me."

* * *

A dark haze filtered the sunlight, casting a dim grey light over the council building and the village square, portentous of the massive storm to come. Despite the dreary atmosphere, the enthusiasm and spirit of the crowd was high, practically every civilian and shinobi clustered close before the podium.

Temari sat on the stage near her brothers, staring blankly into the mass of happy expressions as Gaara's advisor ended the speech.

"…and on behalf of the Kazekage and myself, as well as the entirety of Suna, we thank you for your combined efforts in furthering the security of our village. Congratulations on a job well done."

The village square broke out in applause as the barricade construction workers and engineers humbly bowed, shaking hands with various council and audience members. Far out on the horizon, the row of barricades stood complete at last, an endless expanse of black across a sea of brown. Even from where Temari sat, kilometers away, the construction looked formidable and impenetrable.

"Also!"

The crowd gradually fell silent once more as Gaara's advisor made his way once more to the podium.

"We are fortunate that the engineers were able to complete the wall before the monsoon hit, which brings me to my next point. Please be informed that the severity of the storm will most likely cause a power-out and severe flooding. All outgoing shinobi missions are canceled, and all residents are restricted to the village until further notice. As it is due to hit some time in the night or early morning, please use the time you have now to prepare yourselves accordingly in keeping with emergency procedures. Thank you."

"Finally," Kankuro breathed in relief when the crowd finally dispersed, rising to his feet and rubbing his head. "I thought that guy would never shut up."

Temari slowly followed suit and stood, gazing out past the dispersing crowd and towards the horizon, tracing the line of barricades with her eyes.

_I'll be back one more time…when it'll really be just you and me._

She hadn't understood the words when he'd said them last night and she couldn't understand them now. At no point would the cameras be deactivated, so there was no question in meeting him without ever being monitored. Appearing during the monsoon itself would be absolutely insane, in addition to being pointless with the cameras trained out across the desert.

The back of her eyes ached as she followed Kankuro home, head throbbing with the lack of sleep from the night before.

Part of her latched onto a sense of forced relief, of feigned optimism and certainty, assuring her that it was over, that he'd had his chance and that there was no getting by the border now; not only due to the security, but because of the impending storm. The oasis would swell and overflow and grow into a lake. The barricades would be struck by lightning. The sand at their bases would fester into mud. The wind would reach cutting speeds. The rain would drown anything and everything without mercy.

Yet despite that, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease, even as she forced a smile and nodded in response to Kankuro's carefree remarks, even as she made her way home and closed herself into her room, slumping into bed in exhaustion.

"It's over," she murmured, fingers curling over her bedspread, tired eyes gazing past the gently rustling curtains and into the dim grey sky. "He won't be back."

And despite the slip of doubt lingering in the back of her mind, she eventually gave into the exhaustion, slipping into a fitful sleep.

* * *

_River Country. 12 hours later._

Deep, throbbing notes resonated throughout the silent hideout, carried through the rooms and grounds on a silken, humid breeze. Quicksilver streams glistened and quivered on the horizon, imbuing the mild zephyrs with a rich, wet smell as it infiltrated the open windows. Beneath the stars and the surreal sheen of midnight light, the hypnotic pulses of the music—Konan's accompaniment to her ritualistic, nightly paper-folding—brought haunting ambience to the otherwise silent hideout.

Footsteps soundlessly treaded the hallways, drowned out by the muffled music. After a long, wearisome day, Kakuzu was looking for nothing more than a restful night's sleep, grateful for the eerie stillness. As he traversed the barren halls, crossing the open doorway leading to the balcony, he came to a sudden stop.

Slowly doubling back, he stared at the figure sitting in the centre of the balcony, facing the view of the dilapidated village and glittering stars, the silver hair unmistakably Hidan's.

The Jashinist sat in one of the cement-stained, rickety lawn chairs scavenged from the riverside, slouching so his head rested against the top of the backrest, arms hanging over the sides and legs stretched out haphazardly in front of him. In his right hand, he loosely clutched a bottle of some unidentifiable liquid.

Kakuzu stared at it, bemused. He'd never known Hidan to be a drinker, and in the back of his mind, he idly took notice that his partner was facing the direction of Suna.

After a long, uncharacteristic moment of silence between the two, filled only by the deep euphonies of the music, Kakuzu finally spoke.

"Is there a reason you're drinking, Hidan?"

The Jashinist was quiet for a few long moments, fingers twitching slightly around the neck of the bottle. His voice came out slightly hoarse, as if from disuse, when he spoke.

"Just for old time's sake."

"You don't drink alcohol."

"…'the fuck makes you think it's alcohol?"

Kakuzu stared at him, puzzled.

Wordlessly, sluggishly, Hidan lifted his arm and tilted the bottle back, swallowing the remaining contents before dropping it lethargically to the floor, voice sedate.

"It's cyanide."

Kakuzu narrowed his eyes, watching his partner warily and aware of some unhinged, implacable tone in Hidan's voice. In retrospect, he reflected, the events he'd witnessed most recently had never come up in the history of their partnership. The latest emerging facets of Hidan's behaviour were entirely new.

"Just trying it one last time," Hidan continued, flapping his hand idly. "See if it works before I go."

Kakuzu glanced knowingly out at the horizon, in the direction of Suna, voicing his question nonetheless.

"Go where?"

Hidan snickered, fingers tangling into his hair and scratching lazily before going still.

"You know where."

"There's a monsoon due to hit Suna by tomorrow," Kakuzu intoned, a cold smirk starting beneath his mask. "I wouldn't recommend going, unless you have a death wish."

Hidan's fingers tightened visibly around the neck of the bottle, veins standing out in the back of his hand. His reply was strained, the reaction unusually controlled considering the nature of the jab.

"I won't come back."

"Am I supposed to be concerned?" Kakuzu asked flatly.

"Be happy, bastard."

"What will I tell the Leader?"

"That I fucked off for good."

"And what if you don't?"

Hidan remained silent for a few seconds, staring out at the view of the urban decay and glistening river. When he spoke, the conviction in his voice was enough to make the Falls nin desist and listen.

"I'll admit it, sometimes I say a lot of shit when I've got no fucking clue what I'm talking about. But this time…"

His hand left his hair, the silver strands mussed and gleaming in the dim night light, rosary beads clinking faintly as he wrapped his fingers around them.

"This time, I'm sure."

Kakuzu sneered. "It won't work."

"It'll work," Hidan snapped suddenly, head shifting lethargically on the backrest before he tilted it up, turning to glare venomously at his partner. "It'll work, you son of a bitch. Seriously, it'll work, it'll fucking work, and…I won't be back. I'm not coming back."

Kakuzu stared at him wordlessly as he dragged himself out of the chair, staggering as he knelt to pick up the bottle of cyanide, drops of crimson speckling the dusty concrete and eliciting faint gurgles between hitched, shallow breaths.

"It'll work," Hidan breathed, head bowed towards the ground as blood dripped between his parted lips, soaking into the grey dust. "I won't be back. You and the whole fucking Akatsuki…you were all just one giant piss stain in my life—a fucking piss stain…and seriously, I'm done with you."

He raised his head, tone resolute despite the hoarseness of his voice.

"So here's to me fucking off the face of the earth and away from you bastards for good."

He lifted the bottle and inclined it forward slightly, violet eyes flecked with spider lines, smile lopsided and bloodstained.

"_Cheers_."


	8. Reaching Terminus Pt2

Quotidian ch.7 pt.2

By: firefly

**Reaching Terminus pt.2**

Thick, opaque clouds, ominous and steel grey lay still over the horizon, on the verge of coming to shore. Within the enormous, pregnant swells of cumuli, rain simmered amidst the distant rumbling of thunder, momentarily withholding the deluge as the clouds lethargically rolled forth.

The sky was an unusually bright grey, dismal over the brown backdrop of sand, the houses in the surrounding neighbourhood appearing to shrink as they darkened beneath the approach of the rumbling clouds. At 4:27 AM, the drizzle began, accompanied by a faint flash of lightning in the distance.

Temari found her throat parched as she stood by the window in her room, gazing out at the horizon. Mist collected around the warmth of her fingertips on the glass, sweat building in glistening beads on her forehead.

The rest of Suna slept on. The streets were deserted and the air eerily still, an augury of the blinding rain and brutal wind set to descend within the next hour or so.

She'd slept fourteen hours since collapsing on her bed in exhaustion, blissfully ignorant of her surroundings and the unsettling doubts as she slept, for once spared the nightmares. When she'd finally come to, the faint light of her bedside lamp was unusually bright in comparison to the dim blue luminance seeping between the window blinds, and for a moment she couldn't tell whether the light was indicative of twilight or dawn.

A distinct sense of unease crept upon her once she realized it was dawn, and as if to reassure herself, she stood by the window to gaze out at the line of barricades in the distance.

Her grip tightened on the window's ledge.

_I'll come back one more time…_

"The barricades are up," she muttered vehemently. "There's a monsoon coming."

…_when it'll really be just you and me._

She shook her head admonishingly, muttering.

"No sane person would be out in this weather."

The last words of attempted assurance did little to appease her fears, a small bubble of derisive laughter rising in her throat. The word 'sane' did not apply to him in any shape or form.

She turned away from the window, feeling her legs tremble slightly as she did. The clock read 4:31 AM. Her shift had always ended at five.

"You're done," she said aloud, trying to sound firm and failing. "There aren't anymore shifts."

Despite herself, she helplessly turned her head and looked out the window, brow furrowing as the drizzle became more intense, streaking diagonally across the window pane as the wind picked up speed. A moment later, a flash of lightning lit up the entire neighbourhood, disappearing almost instantly and taking whatever light there was in the house with it.

Temari blinked in the sudden darkness of her room, realizing a moment later the power was gone. A harsh rumbling overhead rattled the window pane, and unconsciously she found herself drawn back to the only remaining source of light streaming through the window.

Glancing out at the neighbourhood, she squinted, noticing that the few lights she'd seen in the surrounding houses had gone out, including the ones in the council building. Only the lights in the hospital remained, running on the emergency power generators.

Releasing a slow breath, she turned away from the window once more, turning to glance at her bedside clock.

The digital display was blank.

She stared at it, and the instant she remembered that it was plugged into an outlet, a sickening, gut-wrenching sensation of fear bore down on her. Without thinking, she turned and ran back to the window, staring out at the horizon and the barricades, hands pressed against the glass.

The hospital was the only facility with backup power.

The surveillance cameras depended on the same electrical network supplying power to the rest of Suna. If the power grid had completely gone down, there would be no surveillance. The cameras were as good as dead.

Her fingers left the window pane to entangle into her unbound hair, gripping hard as an overwhelming sense of panic took over.

No one but her knew about him. Nobody but her understood his nature—black and playful and merciless as it was.

Nobody was watching the border.

"Just you and me," she found herself whispering, arms drifting limply back to her sides.

She had no more time to think.

Fifteen minutes later, when she found herself leaping from the last rooftop onto the sand, equipped with nothing but her shoulder pack and fan, the calm voice in the back of her mind returned, reminding her that she was alone, reminding her that her fan would become useless once the rain fell.

Temari listened and couldn't bring herself to care.

Resolve, enough to make her accept the possibility of encountering death at the border, buried the fear and uncertainty.

She was being irrational. She was neglecting the ideologies she'd lived by her entire life. She was acting crazy and was totally aware of it, and embraced it all for the sake of ending the vicious cycle that had uprooted and virtually destroyed her life. For the sake of showing him that she wouldn't and couldn't let him win, she would endure. The monsoon would not get in her way.

Gritting her teeth, she ran faster, ignoring the burning in her calves and the sharp sting of wind against her uncovered face.

When she finally arrived a half hour later, the barricades greeted her alone, bereft of torches and people. The only things remaining were the cold grey skies and a metal wall that seemed to reach the billowing clouds overhead.

Steeling herself, she continued her sprint towards the barricades, focusing her chakra into her feet. The impact of her feet against the vertical wall sent shockwaves all the way up to her thighs, the pain going unnoticed as she sprinted up the wall, squinting into the drizzle that rained down on her.

By the time she reached the top, she felt like her heart would burst out of her chest. Adrenaline and dread combined to form an anticipation so painful it made her chest hurt, and clenching her teeth, she scaled the edge of the wall and found herself standing at the top, clothes catching on the barbed wire.

She glanced down at the oasis and froze.

Empty. The land was absolutely barren.

Blinking, she stared at it blankly, uncomprehending before shifting her gaze to scour the desert around it.

Gradually, as she continued to search the empty landscape before her, the anticipation and gut-wrenching anxiety vanished, only to be replaced with some hollow, empty feeling she couldn't quite identify. Something heavy pressed down on her chest, disquieting and uncomfortable, eliciting a wince as she stood there, negligent of the lightning illuminating the grey clouds overhead.

Thunder rumbled threateningly and she blinked when a raindrop landed against her left cheek, ice cold and sharp.

Barbed wire cut into her ankle but she remained oblivious, expressionless as she gazed at the oasis. Mechanically, she checked her watch.

5:12 AM.

Did I miss him?She wondered. Did he leave?

The feeling of hollowness expanded and her body seemed to cave inwards in response, head bowing and shoulders slumping as the adrenaline completely disappeared and her body became all too aware of its surroundings. It was bitingly cold, the sensation becoming all the more pronounced when she realized the futility of coming here in the first place.

Brow furrowing, she lowered her eyes, staring at the bloody scratches on her ankle with an odd sort of detachment. This hollow feeling—it almost felt like disappointment.

"Why?" she muttered, glaring bitterly at nothing. "I should be happy."

You hate him, the calm voice reminded her. So it hurts to know he got away. It hurts to know you were totally useless in the end—that you suffered for nothing and never got a chance to show him how you felt.

Wordlessly, Temari knelt and carefully grabbed the edges of the wall, keeping her gaze on the oasis even as she lowered her body, a part of her hoping she might catch a glimpse of him. Instead, gradually, she watched the metal wall rise to obscure her view of the oasis as she descended, and by the time the wall had concealed the oasis completely, the rain started to fall in earnest, pelting against her hands and face.

She felt none of it.

A few seconds later, she stood on the sand, staring blankly at the barricade in front of her, blinking the rain out of her eyes.

The landscape lit up as far as the eye could see, followed by rumbling in the distance.

She couldn't bring herself to move.

"Wonderful weather we're having, huh?"

Temari froze, staring at the metal wall before her, wide-eyed as the familiar, sardonic voice met her ears, closer now than ever before.

She didn't give herself the opportunity to wonder if she'd imagined it or how she should react, slowly turning around and staring blankly as she stopped.

He stood only a few meters behind her against the backdrop of Suna, gazing up at the dark clouds. When he lowered his head and found her staring at him in dumbfounded silence, a slow, wry smile graced his face.

Temari couldn't bring herself to speak, rendered paralyzed by the miniscule distance between them. For a long moment, they merely watched each other, his expression coldly amused as her lips moved soundlessly in an effort to speak. When she finally did, her voice came out half-strangled.

"You crossed the border."

"So I did."

The sound of blood rushing in her ears, coupled with the rumbling thunder and patter of raindrops made it nearly impossible for her to hear her own thoughts. Scarcely breathing, feeling numb, she realized she finally had what she wanted.

He crossed the border. He was in her terrain. He'd finally given her the reason she needed to kill him.

But she didn't move, only capable now of staring at him in petrified silence.

The smile on his face grew wider when she remained motionless.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked in amusement, taking no notice of the rain that fell harder and faster from the sky, plastering their hair and clothes to their bodies. "We're alone. Nobody's watching. I'm all yours."

He took a step forward.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

Temari blinked and felt raindrops fall from her lashes, joining the rivulets already streaming down her face. She remained motionless.

"Didn't you need a reason to kill me?" he continued, squinting through the rain and smirking.

She said nothing, staring at him unblinkingly even as she slowly reached into her pack and withdrew a kunai, clenching it tightly by her side.

His eyes lowered towards the weapon she held, reflecting cold amusement as rain dripped off the point, soaking into the sand. Raising his eyes, he took another step forward, watching her face for a reaction.

Unconsciously, she raised her arm, clenching the handle of the kunai so tightly it trembled in her grip. The wall of the barricade behind her felt like the end of the world.

"Don't take another step," she said, finding her voice unrecognizable to her own ears.

His smirk widened into a grin and she watched, transfixed, her heart hammering in her chest as he reached up behind his back and removed the scythe.

Numbness swept over her, all remnants of fear swept from her mind as he held the scythe by his side, his grip tight on the staff.

She saw death in that moment, saw it in the way he held his weapon and the way he smiled. She saw death and wasn't afraid—only tense to the extent of biting her lip bloody and straining every muscle in her body.

This is what I've been waiting for, she realized, licking the blood from her lower lip, aware of him watching fixedly. I'm not afraid.

Both of them were thoroughly drenched by now, though neither seemed to notice.

Then, just as he took another step forward, he slowly relinquished his grip on his weapon. Temari stared, eyes widening when the scythe fell sideways onto the sand, landing with a soft thump.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes. "Your weapon—"

"You want to kill me," he interrupted, advancing another step. "And you know that you can't."

Temari reached forward with her other hand to steady the first, clutching the kunai with both hands now, trying to resist the urge to back up against the wall.

"So seriously, what I want to know," he said thoughtfully, amusedly, "is what exactly you planned on doing, if I ever gave you the opportunity."

"Stop," she ordered, feeling her left foot slide back of its own accord, connecting with the wall. "Stay where you are."

"What's the matter, Blondie?" he asked, feigning a concerned look. "Scared?"

She swallowed to force back the nausea, disgusted with the delight lacing his undertone.

"Scared of you?" she spat, feeling a surge of hatred flood her. "You're nothing to me."

"'That so?" he inquired calmly, taking another step forward, forcing her back against the wall. "Then why are you running away?"

Temari found herself mute, suddenly, when she realized that this was the closest she'd ever been to him in the past three months. He was only a step away from standing right in front of her.

There was a moment of silence where they just stared at each other, daring each other to make the first move. Temari remained motionless, holding the kunai tight, furiously blinking rainwater out of her eyes as he watched her, smirking.

Her heart nearly stopped when he took the last remaining step forward and instinctively she whipped her arm out, pressing the kunai against the rain-slicked skin of his throat. He stopped, unperturbed by the presence of the blade against his throat, pausing to stare down at her.

Temari stared back, wide-eyed and breathless, seeing him up close for the first time.

Disarming, violet eyes flickered with amusement, blinking away the drops of rainwater that clung to his lashes. The rosary, wet and metallic against his chest, gleamed faintly along with the metal faceplate of an unrecognizable hitai-ate. The clouds on his cloak had darkened from red to burgundy, the faint, heady musk of wet cloth encircling her as the wind picked up speed.

Vile like the crow. Corrupt like the crow. All things bad like the crow. Beautiful like the crow.

_The crow hides a black nature behind a pretty face._

As Temari remained motionless, holding the kunai resolutely against his throat, he moved. Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat when he suddenly leaned into the pressure of the blade, his small smile growing slightly as it bit into his skin.

A thin line of blood emerged alongside the edge of the kunai, blending with rainwater and running in pink rivulets down his neck.

Her knees buckled and the kunai trembled against his throat, cutting into the tender skin as his gaze locked on hers, silently daring her to make a move. She could scarcely breathe. Her mind was blank. He was too close. She had no options left.

"What are you going to do?" he murmured. "You can't kill me."

"You're right," she said suddenly, voice quaking. "I can't."

Then the kunai fell and she threw herself into him with every ounce of force she could muster, a furious scream tearing from her throat simultaneously.

Hidan barely registered the impact of the kunai against the ground when she collided into him, elbow connecting brutally with his sternum, followed almost immediately by her fist against his jaw in a blow that would've dislodged a few teeth if he hadn't turned his head at the last second.

Undeterred by the glancing blow against his face, she whipped around with her other fist, only to have him slap it out of the way, the momentary glimpse of his surprised expression enough to compel her to seize his wrist and fling him against the barricade wall with as much force as she could muster.

His back hit the wall with bruising impact, arms rising to brace him for balance over the slippery mud when she suddenly swung her closed fan towards his head. The collision of the weapon's metal frame against the wall reverberated painfully in his ears as he ducked out of the way, the blow leaving a sizeable dent in its wake.

As she lunged at him again, the sight of her enraged expression and the onslaught of violence she unleashed with her weapon and fists were enough to provoke him into retaliating. He snatched the fan from her grip as he ducked the blow she aimed at his head again, flinging it out somewhere in the sand.

"Bastard—" she bit out in fury, attempting to knee him in the stomach when he seized her wrists. Before she could connect, he spun around and flung her bodily into the barricade wall, the sheer force of the throw and impact knocking her off-balance.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in her back, she staggered to her feet as he took a moment to gather his bearings, glancing up a second too late as she lunged at him once more, inwardly relishing the astonished look on his face before she collided into him.

He flew backwards into the sand, momentarily stunned by the impact of the ground against his back and her weight against his chest. Without wasting a second, she pinned his arms beneath her knees, withdrawing another kunai from her pack as she leaned forward, straddling his waist.

He stared up at her in shock, loose strands of silver hair plastered to the side of his face, arms motionless beneath the weight of her knees. She shook, holding the kunai against his throat, the water from her hair dripping onto his face as rain pelted every inch of her body.

For a moment they just stared at each other in silence, motionless as the impact of their compromising position sank in.

Hidan's silence didn't last long, lips quirking into a grin, laughter reverberating low in his throat as Temari pressed the kunai harder against his neck, drawing more blood.

"You're fucking nuts, you know that?" he managed to get out, eyes bright with some form of euphoric, sadistic glee. "You crazy bitch, you know you can't kill me."

"If I can't kill you," she said shakily, breathing hard. "Then the least I can do is hurt you."

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?" he asked breathlessly, staring up at her in unconcealed excitement. "Hurt me."

Her eyes narrowed into a vicious glare and she felt the poisonous fury take over, quickening her breath till she was gasping and pushing at her throat till she felt like screaming. She wanted to hurt him. _She _wanted to hurt him. Not with a kunai alone. Not without her hands.

She switched the kunai to her left hand, reaching down with her right to grab him by the back of his hair, her fingers twisting cruelly into the wet, silver strands before jerking his head up, forcing him off the ground.

Breathing harshly, she tightened her grip, making him wince as she dragged her nails as hard as she could over the rain-slicked skin of his neck. His expression contorted slightly as the skin peeled away and blood flowed, collecting in thin red pools beneath her nails.

A look of exhilaration flooded his features, eyes closing momentarily as the tip of the kunai bit threateningly into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. She yanked his head up higher, pressing her full weight into his arms to keep him immobile, holding the kunai against his throat.

"You mad at me?" he asked, voice straining as the tip of the kunai dug into his neck. "Upset because I'm in your precious little country? Pissed off because I came without permission?"

"Shut up," she ordered breathlessly, tilting the blade up higher. "Just shut up."

Fighting to keep her rage under control, physically forcing every ounce of her weight on him, straining her muscles to the point of spasms—they all coupled to form an exertion so intense she teetered on the brink of collapse.

Panting harshly, she clenched her jaw, pulling him forward and digging her knees as hard as she could into his arms—anything to make the exhilarated expression on his face disappear. The strain inflicted on his shoulders had him gasping as hard as her, and she had to fight the urge to grin in satisfaction.

"Bitch," he gasped, his voice straining further, fingers digging into the sand. "—you trying to break my fucking arms?"

"Your arms, your legs, your neck," she said venomously. "Everything."

"This really hurts, you know."

"Just shut up," she snarled, leaning forward that bit more to make him draw a sharp breath. "And tell me why the hell you're here."

"What?" he squinted up at her, blinking rainwater out of his eyes. "You still didn't figure that out?"

A stifled curse burst out of him when she abruptly moved the kunai from his throat and clenched her fist, backhanding him across the face with enough force to draw blood. Immediately, a long, livid scratch bloomed red across his cheek, rain mingling with the blood and joining the pink rivulets streaming down his neck.

Temari struggled to catch her breath, glaring hatefully down at him as he slowly turned his head to look back at her, an unnervingly calm expression on his face.

"You know," he said slowly, almost lazily. "If you'd been anyone else, I would've ripped your fucking throat out for that."

"So why don't you?" she spat, forcing the blade of the kunai against his neck again. "What's so special about me?"

"Like I said, you still didn't figure it out?"

Temari grimaced as a mix of something resembling a frustrated, anguished sob and scream caught in her throat, tripping on the way out, manifesting in a violent tremor in her grip against the kunai and the fingers fisted in his hair.

"Tell me," she choked out. "Tell me, or…"

"Or what?" he sneered. "You'll kill me? Why do you wanna know, anyway? Am I supposed to have some shitty little motive that'll make you feel better?"

The look in her eyes became absolutely livid. "Fucker—"

His eyes widened when she raised her hand again, this time pointing the kunai directly at his face. "Tell me, or I'll stab your goddamn eyes out."

He stared up at her in silence for a few moments, brow furrowed slightly, arms straining beneath her knees. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

"Let go and I'll tell you."

Temari lowered her eyes to his arms, well aware of the severe strain his shoulders must have been under as she kept his arms pinned to the sand. Easing the pressure would only give him the incentive to turn the tables, and in response she merely narrowed her eyes, tightening her grip on his hair and lowering her head slightly.

"Tell me," she said icily. "Anything besides that, and you lose an eye."

His breath hitched near her ear, fingers digging into the dirt as the pressure on his arms mounted. After a long moment of silence, his lips parted to speak.

"It's harder than it looks, you know, being a missing nin…half the time you're on the run, the other half you're carrying out orders for an organization you never wanted to join in the first place, and in the middle of all that, getting fucked over and fucked up in fights, getting distracted from what's important…"

Temari listened in silence, brow furrowing as he paused, arms squirming beneath her knees again before he continued.

"And what can I say…you get sick of that shit after a while. You need a way to get your kicks, and some of us miserable bastards don't know any better way than to just kill, kill, and kill some more to pass the time…but you…"

A trace of laughter caressed the shell of her ear, his voice emerging in a soft, malicious murmur.

"Seriously, talking to you—seeing you—fucking with you made it better. Suddenly my shitty life wasn't as shitty, because I was getting my rocks off making your life a living hell. Sharing the misery, or whatever it was—seriously gave me my kicks. And you were so perfect, so naïve, falling for it and putting up with it, you _dumb bitch_."

She remained motionless, silent as he paused. His fingers clenched into fists to brace himself before he continued.

"And it's your own fault," he murmured. "It's your own goddamn fault you couldn't get a fucking clue, Blondie."

His voice lapsed into silence, the rhythmic pattering of rain filling the expanse once more as Temari remained motionless. Eventually, she lowered her head, the pressure against his throat relenting as she let her lips part near his ear.

"Then get one thing straight," she said quietly. "My name is Temari, you son of a bitch."

The kunai pierced the soft skin of his neck before he could get a chance to speak, only a faint, hoarse sound of surprise escaping him before she forced the blade through the flesh. Dragging it deep, she punctured his carotid artery in a straight line before she flung it away, tightening her grip on his hair as blood gushed from the wound, impacting hotly against her neck.

He froze, lips parting soundlessly near her ear as the pain sank in and the blood streamed in a violent torrent down his neck, washing away the rain and leaving a red sheen against his skin.

Temari remained motionless, trembling and holding him up by his hair, breathing harshly and waiting for a sound. A faint gurgling met her ears and she closed her eyes, unsure of whether it was out of bliss or the verge of syncope.

Without even being aware, she'd shifted so her knees pressed into the sides of his ribs, releasing the weight on his arms. Somewhere between her slitting his throat and flinging the kunai away, he'd blindly reached up and grabbed fistfuls of her shirt.

The gurgling grew louder as she opened her eyes, staring wide-eyed in disbelief down at the wet sand as the sound began to taper into silence, the vice-like grip on her collar slackening slightly.

Dead within minutes, she thought desperately, recalling the quickness of the civilian woman's death. Please, please, please, _please_.

The gurgling faded into silence.

She didn't dare breathe, staring blankly ahead at the sand, not daring to hope that it was over.

And then a faint, weak sound broke through the rain, slowly escalating in volume and nearly making her cave in on herself as it met her ears. Choking back a cry of despondence, she couldn't bring herself to hold back the words anymore, tears burning at the backs of her eyes.

"I hate you," she whimpered, her voice catching and breaking in her throat. "I _hate_ you."

Hoarse laughter, guttural and harsh against her ear, gradually heightened in volume as the blood flow slowly tapered off.

His fingers trembled before splaying out against the lapel of her shirt, bunching it and curling tightly around the wet fabric. He was laughing, coughing and choking on the blood flooding his mouth, but laughing all the same.

Temari could only stare despondently at the sand, blinking slowly, indifferent to his blood soaking into her clothes and his knuckles grazing her collarbone. The hand fisted into his soaked hair felt numb, the ache in her arm going unnoticed.

The rain fell harder till the sound of his laughter faded to a disturbing hum in the back of her mind, the hard, cold droplets weighing her down into the sand. She couldn't bring herself to move or speak. There were no words to describe what she felt in that moment.

In hindsight, perhaps, she could say she felt the numb shock similar to the kind one experienced upon hearing about the death of a loved one. The sensation was identical, only in reverse. The man whose throat she cut lay laughing beneath her, alive when he should have been dead.

His death would have brought closure. His pain would have quenched at least a slip of her vicious hatred. But he razed both hopes without mercy, laughing in the face of death and her attempts at hurting him. The devastation she felt went beyond comprehension.

The rain lessened and increased in intensity at odd intervals, and just as it began to taper off, she heard the sounds of his laughter change.

Gradually, the sounds of mirth became indistinguishable from the great, hitching gasps catching in his throat, mingling to form an unnerving parody of both amusement and grief. She stared blankly at the sand, listening to the hysterical blend of sobs and laughter in silence.

"Shit," he gasped, his voice half-choked by blood and rain. "Almost…it almost worked."

Despite the overwhelming misery and anguish encompassing her in that moment, the stark oddness of his words brought her out of her reverie. Gradually, she released her grip on his hair, both hands descending to grasp the front of his cloak. When she met his gaze, he was staring up at her with a grimace of consternation on his face, the deep gash in his throat looking surreal against his features.

"What?" she said faintly.

"Got my hopes up for nothing," he said, smiling bitterly. "I seriously thought you'd be the one to do it."

Her heart felt like it would stop in the hollow expanse that had engulfed her body. Numb, trembling, she furrowed her brow, staring at him in confusion.

At her expression, a wavering, humourless grin spread across his bloodstained face, his voice tinged with derision.

"You still don't get it, do you?"

When she didn't reply, his eyes narrowed into a vicious glare, grip tightening on her collar before he flung her off of him and to the side.

Temari caught herself despite the unexpected shove, leaning back on her elbows and staring in detached shock at the sight of him sitting up, undeterred by the blood loss. The look on his face before he'd thrown her aside lingered in her mind's eye, and an instinctual part of her urged her to run.

But as he lifted his gaze from the sand and looked at her, she couldn't bring herself to move, finding her limbs petrified.

An unbearable silence reigned for several seconds, neither breaking the eye contact, until he finally spoke.

"I thought you could kill me," he said, voice bitter. "That's why I came back."

Temari stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Since the first week," he continued, a cynical smile working its way onto his features. "Since the first time you said you needed a reason to kill me."

Her lips parted. She found herself unable to speak.

"That's why I kept coming back," he said with a sudden, hoarse laugh. "You think I couldn't tell? You think I couldn't tell you hated my fucking guts? I just needed to give you a reason to kill me, and today I finally did."

"Why me?" she managed to get out, her voice hardly above a whisper. "Why did you choose me?"

"I didn't choose you," he retorted. "You chose me. You made me into your fucking scapegoat—pinned me with all the hate you have for the Akatsuki. I just realized it and took advantage of it."

Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest, her voice escalating and bursting out of her in fury.

"But why _me_? I'm not the only one who hates you!"

He seemed unperturbed by her anger, regarding her nonchalantly for a few moments.

"You're something else," he finally replied. "No one's hated me like you do."

She couldn't speak, her eyes swimming with tears of loathing and hurt and disgust.

Two months. He'd put her through two months of sleepless nights, withdrawal from normality, hatred-induced obsession, hatred-induced fury, hatred-induced irrationality, hatred-induced anguish, and for what? To use her as a device to satisfy his own morbid desire?

Out of hatred, she'd wanted to kill him. Out of hatred, she would have granted him death and subsequently given him what he wanted. If it had been possible, she could have granted both their wishes. But she couldn't satisfy her own desire and she couldn't satisfy his. She'd failed on both accounts.

"What the hell are you crying about?" he demanded when she bowed her head. "I felt that this was it, that you'd be the one to do it. I never felt so sure about something in my whole fucking life. I should be crying, goddamn it, not you."

"Shut up!" she shrieked, fists clenching in the mud. "If I could, I'd kill you a hundred times! It's not my fault you can't die. You should have found someone else—someone capable of giving you what you want!"

Her voice caught in her throat, breath hitching in a half-suppressed sob, stifling her next words into a choked whimper.

"Bastard…you ruined my life."

He remained silent for a few moments, staring at her expressionlessly before an odd, wan smile lifted the corners of his lips, a low chuckle sounding in his throat as he looked contemplatively down at the sand.

The smile faded as quickly as it had come.

"You think you're the only one," he murmured, voice hardly audible through the rainfall. "You think…what, the past two months were easy for me?"

A slight tremor passed through her as his voice heightened in pitch, keening with what sounded like repressed hysteria.

"You think I was being _serious_ when I said all that shit about getting my rocks off making your life a living hell?"

She instinctively drew back when his head snapped up, violet eyes dark with fury.

"What do you think, you fucking bitch? That I came back every goddamn night for our little chats? That I came back just to piss you off? I don't give a _shit about you_!"

Reeling back from the shout, Temari was hardly conscious of the intensifying rain, terrified and transfixed as his voice abruptly died into a low mutter, his fingers tangling into his hair.

"This wasn't supposed to happen…I'm not supposed to still be here. You were supposed to kill me. Why couldn't you kill me?"

A retort stopped short of leaving her lips as she warily took in his demeanor, realizing words would only worsen the situation. Somehow, the sight of him like this scared her more than Gaara ever possibly could.

"Said my goodbyes," he murmured, voice hardly audible. "Left them behind. Did everything right. But something's wrong…seriously…something's seriously wrong."

"I'm not the right person," she finally choked out. "You picked the wrong person."

He clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. "There isn't anybody else."

"You don't know—"

"There isn't anybody else!" he interrupted furiously, voice suddenly escalating into a shout. "There's only you! For two months—two fucking months—only you. Day and night, just you. Couldn't sleep, because of you. Was punished, because of you—"

Her eyes widened in shock, arms and legs scrambling back over the ground to gain some distance when he violently swung his fist downwards into the mud, voice hoarse from screaming.

"You goddamn bitch, it has to be you, because it's the only fucking reason good enough to explain why for two months all I could _think about_ was you!"

Temari stared at him, speechless and wide-eyed as the din of rain gradually filled the deafening silence that followed. For a long moment, he remained in the same position, fists clenched in front of him, staring sightlessly at the sand as he fought to catch his breath.

At the same time, a slew of thoughts assaulted her, rooting her to the spot as she realized the sleepless nights, uncertainty, and obsession hadn't been one-sided. Somewhere in the back recesses of her mind, a sense of satisfaction flourished at the thought of him suffering in the same way she had.

But whatever his reasons, he'd still reduced her to living a hellish existence, had contributed to her almost killing her brother, had ruined what chances there might have been of saving that woman. As far as she was concerned, he had no goddamn right to blame her for his own mistakes.

"…I would've killed you by now for being so useless."

Temari glanced up sharply at the sound of his voice, tensing as he raised his head and looked at her levelly.

"But I don't plan on giving up on this…on you."

She didn't reply, stiffening at his words. They stared at each other, and just as his fists loosened by his sides she mindlessly tried to get up and run.

He grabbed her by the wrist before she could even move to her knees and jerked her forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair to keep her still when she struggled.

Biting her lip, Temari squeezed her eyes shut momentarily at the sharp pain in her wrist, ceasing her struggling as he tightened his grip.

The concept of "shinobi" and its ranks—genin, chunnin, jounin—spontaneously fell apart, all her ideologies and philosophies melting beneath the rain and sinking into the festering mud around her. She was no longer Temari of the Sand, sister of the Kazekage, the wind-user, the jounin. She could no longer recall the best methods of retaliation.

She was reduced to the instinctual urge to run.

But he was stronger than her, frighteningly so. When she opened her eyes, the sight of his livid expression told her there was nothing stopping him from shattering her wrist.

"You're fucked if you try that again," he said in a dangerously low voice, tightening his grip as she grimaced. "I would've killed you by now if I didn't think you were worth something, but seriously, if you don't cooperate..."

He tightened his grip, jerking her forward.

"I'll _show_ you why they let me into the Akatsuki."

"Fuck you," she snarled, glaring up into his face. "Kill me, then, you piece of shit. I'll never help you."

A sensation akin to a cold finger tracing down her spine rendered her temporarily motionless as a small, malicious smirk flourished on his lips.

"Who said anything about killing you?"

She gritted her teeth to stifle a gasp of pain as he dragged her to her feet by her hair, holding her wrist in a vice-like grip. She braced herself to run and wrench her arm out of his grip as he relinquished his hold on her hair, and just as she tensed her muscles to flee, a bolt of pain unlike anything she'd ever felt razed her insides with enough intensity to make her cry out.

Stumbling forward, she didn't even register the sensation of being caught roughly around her middle, her breath coming in short gasps as her held her up, the side of her face pressing into the soaked fabric of his cloak.

His fingers curled over her shoulders, pulling her up and forcing her to stand upright. She didn't resist, too shaken and confounded by the intense bolt of pain, wondering what had caused it even as he released her and took a few steps back towards the barricades, returning with his scythe.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the weapon, and just as she tensed to take a step back, another bolt of pain shot up into her chest. It was all she could do to keep from crying out, slapping her hand over her mouth instead and squinting through-pain glazed eyes as he stopped near her side.

"Like I said, I don't plan on giving up on this…and if I did something wrong, it has to be the fact that I rushed this."

Her knees buckled as he slowly circled her, his smile tangible in the frigid drizzle of rain, words imbued with a warmth that caressed her cold, bloodstained flesh with every slow-tread cycle.

"…so you're going to do me a big favour."

The sharp, inexplicable pains and muscle spasms started coming without provocation and, fighting panic, Temari focused unwaveringly on the effort to remain upright against the harsh tremors.

Breathing haggardly, she lowered her eyes to the ground, brow furrowing at the sight of his scythe's staff dragging through the mud, encompassing her in a circle.

"On second thought, forget this being a favour," he said from behind her, voice nearing with the line drawn by his scythe.

Temari raised her eyes, closing them momentarily and shuddering as the warmth of his murmured words caressed the shell of her ear.

"Think of this as a _privilege_."

Biting her lip, she strained to remain steady as a sharp spasm in her calves nearly drove her to her knees. If Hidan noticed, he didn't comment, focused resolutely instead on completing the edges of a triangle within the circle.

"What are you talking about?" Temari managed to say, her voice little more than a weak whisper.

He stared at her in silence, his gaze intense on her face, before suddenly reaching forward.

A sharp gasp caught in her throat and the instinctual urge to run erupted with unrestrained vigour, urging her petrified legs to move. Before she could even take one step outside the circle he'd etched in the mud, his other hand seized her wrist, rooting her to the spot.

Pain shot up her arm, siphoning the adrenaline and spilling it into the festering mud around her. She shuddered, eyes sliding closed and brow furrowing, fighting the urge to recoil as his fingertips slid over the skin of her arm, curving over her bicep.

A tremor worked its way through her body at the touch, uncertainty contorting her brow, fear coaxing her eyes open.

When she opened her eyes again, she found him standing within the seal directly before her, found herself looking up at him with an indescribable blend of loathing and fear marring her features and rending her insides.

A slow smile lifted the corners of his lips at her expression, and when he reached forward to cup her cold, wet face with his hands, she didn't resist, stilled by the agony in her limbs and by the look of morbid rapture brightening his eyes.

"It's a matter of time, is all it is. I rushed it, so it didn't work. So all I have to do…is wait."

Then he leaned forward, pressing the pendant of his rosary against the cold, ashen skin beneath her widow's peak, brushing his lips over it.

When he pulled back, his fingertips traced her skin as though stroking a hallowed object, and his voice was thick with something akin to hope and veneration when she gazed up at him in unconcealed horror.

"Consider yourself blessed," he murmured with a wry smile.

Then he stepped back and out of the circle, moving aside with a calm, complacent look on his face.

"Go ahead," he said after a moment, when she didn't move. "I won't stop you."

Temari stared at him, blinking rapidly through the heavy rain and not knowing whether to believe him or not. It didn't matter, really, when the spasms of pain were growing in intensity. If he killed her, it would be no different from dying from whatever was causing her agony.

The first faltering step forward shot waves of pain from her feet to her thighs, the muscles protesting vehemently with sharp spasms. She didn't turn her head to see where he was standing or whether he was watching her. The compulsion to get out of there and far away from him outweighed her concern.

Another step and an inaudible whimper caught in her throat, choked back through sheer force of will as the spasms gave away to seizure. Staggering momentarily, she gritted her teeth, reaching down to clench the wet fabric covering her throbbing leg, yanking it to get herself moving.

She stumbled forward another step, and then another, and another, till she left him and the seal behind, her muscles growing weaker with each consecutive step. By the time she made it twenty meters from the barricades, she was doubled over, struggling to keep her balance as pain blossomed through her abdomen and blood flooded her mouth.

It was all she could do to keep from vomiting when the coppery taste filled her mouth. Letting her lips part, Temari watched in detached shock as a stream of crimson dripped steadily towards the mud.

All at once, the reason behind the blood and pain became startlingly clear.

_Too many_, she realized weakly in dismay, thinking of the stimulant injections. _Took too many._

The physical strain of her attacks had finally pushed her body to the limit and triggered the breakdown.

At the same time she realized this, what had once been drizzle was now replaced with the pinnacle of the monsoon's deluge. The landscape around her exploded with the jarring cacophony of raindrops slamming into the mud, filling her shoes with muck and slowing her steps even further.

Grimacing against the pain, she bowed her head, feeling the rain impact harshly against the back of her head, dripping steadily through her drenched hair. The weight of the water pressed down on her, dragging her down towards the mud.

She cried out with her next step, unable to hold back the sound as the muscles in her torso gave away to spasms, the pain spreading gradually till it encompassed and blinded every sense, rendering her motionless.

Breathing harshly, she refused to turn her head and look back, blinking rapidly through the violent downpour, determined to get back to the village. But the next step she took brought her to her knees, rendering her legs useless.

The terror that plagued her in that moment gave her the last, pathetic rush of adrenaline needed to resort to crawling, her fingers digging vainly into the mud, oblivious to the way it soiled her arms and clothes, bitingly cold against her skin.

She bit her lip, screwing her eyes shut as she forced her fingers as deep as she could into the mud, straining her quavering arms to pull herself forward, all the while suppressing the urge to scream with the effort.

When she only managed to get ten feet from where she'd fallen after fifteen minutes, when the muscles in her shoulders began to seize, when she sank wrist-deep into the frothing mud, the determination left her.

More blood dripped down her chin, lips parting at the sensation of her degenerating muscles. Choking back a cry of pain and despondence, she squeezed her eyes shut, letting her arms and legs fall limp, slumping down into the mud.

She came to the barricades expecting death. But not like this. Never like this—facedown in the dirt, because of injuries sustained by her own careless hand.

With the side of her face pressed against the cool, wet sand, she stopped struggling, lying limp and staring blankly though half-lidded, pain-glazed eyes into nothingness. The water ran into her eyes and she couldn't bring herself to blink, knowing that it would inevitably fill her nose and mouth and drown her in the mud.

A white haze permeated her vision, surrounding the visible landscape in a nebulous grey halo. Unconsciousness was settling in. If she closed her eyes now, she wouldn't open them again.

Her eyelids slid closed partially of their own accord, and for five minutes that felt like eternity, she listened to the deafening hiss of unrelenting rainfall, taking the abuse of the hard, cold drops pelting against every inch of her body.

It was only when she felt the wind subside that she managed to crack open her eyelids.

The black hem of a cloak obscured her view of the landscape, and then there was a shift and a flap of fabric as the cloak disappeared. A weight settled against her exposed frame a moment later, the heady scent of wet cloth and something akin to burnt wood descending with it.

She was overcome with a haze of pain and a sense of weightlessness as rough hands seized her shoulders and the fabric of her shirt, yanking her off the ground. She let her lips part, unsurprised when nothing but a faint gurgle and a stream of blood escaped her throat, or by the limpness of her body and the way her arms dangled uselessly by her sides, knuckles grazing the mud.

There was a pause where she felt the stare on her face. Then the musky scent of wet fabric and burnt wood suddenly grew stronger, and Temari didn't resist as the cloth was wrapped around her and draped over her ashen face.

Faintly, she listened to the sound of his voice mingling with the rain, too weak to protest when she felt herself being lifted bodily from the ground.

"Don't know what the fuck you did to yourself…" he muttered. "But I didn't give you my first blessing just to have you die on me."

Nausea and repulsion encompassed her in that moment; the sensation of being carried so jarring her eyes flew open. Blackness enshrouded her, her senses infused with a smell that was redolent yet repulsive, threatening to smother her.

A faint moan escaped her lips, the effort straining the aching muscles of her throat. He must have heard it, somehow, because he spoke again.

"Still alive?" he asked dryly, voice muffled by the rain. "Keep it that way, Blondie."

A lump of loathing rose in her throat at his next words.

"Stay alive until you've done me that favour. I don't give a shit about what happens to you after that."

Thunder echoed quietly in the distance, the biting chill of rain subsiding into nothingness.

It seemed to crash down on her all at once; the realization that he was in her country, that he was taking her back to the village, that he was going towards the very place she'd spent two months keeping him away from. He planned on keeping her alive for the sole purpose of carrying out his own morbid desire. This was _not _the end. He _would_ be back.

She was vaguely aware of something snapping, far off, in the deep recesses of her mind, vaguely aware that her heart began to palpitate and her limp limbs shook with an adrenaline supplied by pure rage.

The hatred she felt then was incomparable to what she'd felt the last few months. All rationality, all thoughts concerning her well-being, her brothers, her village—they vanished simultaneously, replaced by a red fog and an all-encompassing desire to _hurt him._

_Not for them anymore_, she realized faintly, thinking of her brothers. _Not for anyone. This time…only me. Only for me. _

He came to a sudden stop when he felt her move, and her resolve exploded as her fingers closed around the damp, but mostly dry slips of paper in her shoulder bag and the wet metal casement within the folds of her shirt.

A shocked curse burst out of him when she drove the blade of a concealed pocketknife through his side, and the agony that shot through her frame when he dropped her to the ground went unnoticed, unadulterated fury stifling the shrieking protest of her muscles as she tore off the cloak and forced herself to her feet.

He had staggered back with a shocked look on his face, staring at the knife impaled in his side before yanking it out, only to look up and meet the sight of her screaming and lunging at him.

Despite the poisonous hatred flooding her mind and body in that moment, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadistic pleasure at the look on his face when he realized what she was holding in her clenched fist.

She threw herself into him, flinging her arms around his waist and slapping the three damp exploding notes to the bloodstained skin of his side. Then the rage dissipated in an instant, her arms seizing around him as she looked up with a humourless grin twisting her bloodstained mouth, unwavering despite the agony and impending fog of unconsciousness.

He only stared back at her, stunned as she touched her fingers to the exploding notes, digging her nails into his back.

"Consider the favour done," she hissed.

A pulse of chakra—

And then oblivion.


	9. Reaching Terminus Pt3

Quotidian ch.7 pt.3

By: firefly

**Reaching Terminus pt.3**

Dappled sunlight streamed through a window. A warm breeze rustled the curtains on either side of it, making no sound as the thin linen billowed and swayed gently in the wind.

Her bare feet scraped over sand-speckled floorboards, the gently billowing curtains descending back to their place and revealing a black bird on the windowsill.

It took her a moment to recognize it as a crow, the sight inspiring bemusement and faint wonderment as it perched there, watching her silently. Inwardly, she wondered where it had come from, wondered why it chose her window out of the hundreds open throughout the neighbourhood.

They watched each other appraisingly for a few seconds in silence, until Temari vaguely realized that she had somewhere she needed to go. Something tugged at her, beckoning her towards the door, and for some reason beyond her understanding, she felt compelled to see off this creature of bad omens before departing.

Approaching it cautiously, she reached out, brushing aside the curtain and glancing at the open window meaningfully.

It cocked its head to the side. She gestured to the open space, speaking though no sound issued from her lips.

_Leave. I have to go now._

It continued watching her with that incongruous head tilt, dark eyes gleaming like obsidian in the sunlight. Then, just as she reached forward to move it, it quietly turned on the windowsill and a moment later, spread its wings before escaping outside.

Temari watched it go, feeling a strange sense of closure she couldn't place, staring after it as it disappeared in the distance. Then she remembered that she had to be going, and let the curtain fall back to its original place.

Wordlessly, she turned and headed towards her bedroom door, feeling an incorporeal tug and wanting nothing more than to obey the silent command.

Her hand rested on the doorknob, turning it and letting the door swing open. Without looking back, she lowered her eyes and stepped through.

* * *

When Hidan finally came to, he vaguely wondered if he was in hell.

Burning pain radiated over his entire backside, the sensation only made worse when he realized the burns were being pelted mercilessly by what felt like ice-cold stones. The smell of wet earth and ozone saturated his senses, along with the faint, coppery scent of blood.

He slowly let his eyes crack open, choking back an agonized curse when an attempt to move yielded utter agony from every inch of his frame.

Realizing he was alive, he slowly recognized the hard ice-cold stones pelting his burns to be torrential rainfall, merciless and brutally painful against his skin. Slowly, gingerly, he raised his head a fraction of an inch and stopped when the burned, bleeding skin of his neck screamed in protest.

He tried to flex his fingers, wondering how many pieces he was in. To his astonishment and relief, he managed to clench his fists and curl his toes, realizing he was miraculously in one piece.

_Thank you_, he mouthed silently, closing his eyes briefly, before he turned his head to look at the extent of damage.

Although he couldn't see his severely burned back and side, he managed to catch sight of two un-detonated exploding notes still plastered to his skin, torn and pulpy from the rain. Lowering his eyes, he found a piece of another exploding note half-buried in the mud, only a third of its original size, marred by scorch marks.

Only half-detonated_, _he realized with a grimace of pain, clenching his teeth to hold back the gasps of agony as he forced his hands into the frothing mud, pushing himself up to look at his surroundings.

Trembling from the sheer amount of pain, he took a moment to gather his bearings as his vision deteriorated repeatedly into a haze of white, nausea souring the back of his throat. Swallowing hard, he glanced around, seeing nothing but a sea of churning brown, hearing nothing but the thrumming of rainfall. In the misty haze created by the violent downpour, he could hardly decipher front from back.

With a grunt of pain, he forced himself to sit up, reeling momentarily from the agony, and breathing hard to keep conscious, he raised his head, only to freeze when he caught sight of what lay a few feet ahead.

The black fabric of her clothes was the only thing that distinguished her motionless body from the dreary, almost colourless surroundings; most of her frame was submerged in frothing, bubbling mud, rain mercilessly pelting her prone figure.

Hidan stared at her, sitting motionlessly a few meters away, mind utterly blank.

Nearly a minute passed with him staring at the strange, surreal sight, thoughts vacant as if refusing to comprehend what he was seeing.

_She's dead_, a calm voice finally said in the back of his mind.

She can't be dead, he thought blankly.

_She was sick and half-dead before the exploding note went off. She's gone._

And for another moment he merely sat there, staring at her motionless frame with a detached form of shock and disbelief, unable to comprehend this, unable to comprehend that it was over.

Suddenly besieged by a wave of denial, he forced himself onto his hands and knees, gritting his teeth against the pain and bowing his head under the unrelenting rain, silver hair hanging in jagged disarray around his face. Biting the inside of his mouth, he forced himself to crawl forward, ignoring the way spasms wracked his frame, ignoring the white haze that infiltrated his vision and surrounded the landscape in a gauzy halo.

Oblivious to the filth, oblivious to the rain, he eventually made it over to her body, finding it facedown and half-submerged in watery mud, deathly still.

Laboriously, he forced himself to sit up next to her, legs splayed out across the mud as he fought to catch his breath. Then his hands were reaching into the pool of rain and sand, taking hold of her shoulders and shirt and pulling, forcing himself to exert his body to the point of collapse.

When he'd finally managed to pull her dead weight out of the mud, water cascading down her limp arms and from her hair, he turned her over, draping her upper body across his legs, her lower half still submerged in the shallow crevice.

Her face was stark white beneath the mud, the rain eventually washing away the filth and leaving her looking like a corpse. Loose strands of blonde hair were plastered to her pallid cheeks, congealed blood glistening on the insides of her lips. Her lashes were caked with mud.

Motionless, he merely stared at her, waiting for her eyelids to twitch, waiting for her to gasp for air.

Nothing happened.

Numbly, for he wasn't capable of feeling anything in that moment, he pressed two fingers against her neck, waiting for a pulse. The skin remained cold and still beneath his fingertips, and his frustration quickly and abruptly melded with desperation, reaching a boiling point when the unrelenting impact of rain against his entire frame made it impossible to detect a pulse.

All he could feel and hear were the punishing blows of the rainfall, and after a few seconds of fruitless waiting, he let his hand fall back to his side, blinking down at her in detached shock. She remained facing the sky, her limp, upturned hands collecting the rain in little pools in the centres of her palms.

It was over. Just like that.

"You bitch," he croaked, voice hardly above a whisper. "You stupid, goddamn bitch."

Gradually, the shock gave away to anger, and for a moment he wanted to throw her back into the mud, shout at her until his throat was raw, tell her she had no goddamn right to do this to him, tell her this was all fucking bullshit, not right, not right, _not right_—

"Damn it…" he choked out, expression crumpling in anger and despair as he rigidly curled his fingers around the drenched, cold fabric of her shirt, shaking her forcefully.

_I'm still here._

Cursing, despairing, hating her as she lay there, serene and oblivious to his dismay, he fisted his trembling fingers in his hair, experiencing a terrifying sense of loss and hopelessness as the landscape dissolved in a haze of brown and blue, disorienting and dizzying rainfall weighing him into the mud.

_I'm still alive._

He took fistfuls of her shirt and shoved her off his lap and back into the mud, enraged by the confounding desolation and hopelessness. Glaring hatefully at her serene expression, he watched the rain quickly rise and envelop the side of her face, seeping between her slightly parted lips, surrounding and pooling around her nose.

Feeling his expression cave once more into something resembling anguish and dismay, he forced himself to his hands and knees, ignoring the pain in his back and turning himself in the other direction.

He struggled aimlessly through the thick murk till exhaustion deadened his limbs into stillness, head bowing beneath the weight of the cold rain that continued to fall mercilessly from above. As he fought to catch his breath, he clenched his fist in the mud, squeezing his eyes shut.

Against his better judgment, he raised his head and glanced back over his shoulder. She was nothing more than a black smear on the horizon now, gradually submerging into the frothing landscape. Watching her sink, his eyes suddenly widened, denial striking harder than the cold needles pelting into his burns.

_She can't be dead._

Whatever pain he felt was smothered by desperation when he abruptly turned back in her direction, crawling haphazardly through the mud and scrambling to the shallow crevice she laid in.

Reaching down, furious with perseverance, he grabbed her by the collar and pulled her out of the water, putting an arm under her back and lifting her higher, supporting her head against his shoulder when it lolled lifelessly towards the ground. Leaning forward to shield her face from the rain, he roughly moved aside the muddy strands of blonde hair clinging to her ashen cheeks, shifting and securing his grip as he pressed a hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up.

For a moment, the sight of her serene features made his brow contort violently in loathing, arms tensing as if to throw her back in the mud. But the hesitation was short-lived.

He briefly searched her features, brow furrowing and eyes squeezing shut in resolve, then lowered his head and closed his mouth over hers.

While shaking with the effort to remain upright under the stabbing pain in his back, the first few attempts to revive her yielded nothing. He shifted once more, bringing her up higher, brushing hair out of his eyes and from her face before trying again, eyes squeezing shut tighter, this time in remorse.

Never had he attempted to save someone's life. The very idea went against the doctrine of Jashin, and he could only hope—_pray_—that his Lord would forgive him as he tried heedlessly to bring her back, fervent in his attempts despite not knowing full well what he was doing.

Nearly a minute passed before he felt the first trickle of water emerge from her throat, and a thoughtless push against her torso released the rest.

Pulling back, he spat the blend of blood and muddy water to the side before glancing back at her, stunned as water and blood escaped with a faint gurgle, billowing in crimson streams from between her lips.

Turning her over, he let the rest of the fluid drain from her body, glancing around until the sight of his muddied, discarded cloak caught his eye. A moment later, he held it over her head to block the rainfall as he reached forward to press two fingers to her throat.

Within the deafening cacophony of the monsoon, her pulse seemed unfathomably feeble, hardly tangible against his fingertips. But despite its faintness, he _felt_ it.

Not dead. Not over yet. _Not dead_.

At the sheer amount of relief he felt, his body finally succumbed to the unrelenting pain in his back, forcing him to deposit her limp body back onto the ground as he slumped forward, fighting the urge to pass out. Digging his fingers into the mud, he squeezed till the muck oozed out from between his fingers, the cold a startling contrast to the burning agony razing his skin.

Breathing hard, he took a few minutes to gather his bearings, wordlessly mouthing prayers for strength and guidance. Yet despite that, the despairing sense of hopelessness returned in one vicious onslaught when he raised his head to look at her.

She may have been alive, but it would only be a matter of time before she was dead. He could barely move, let alone attempt to take her back to the village. The most he could do was sit there and feel her feeble pulse eventually come to a stop.

In defeated resignation, he tangled his fingers into his hair, bowing his head and wondering what she'd done to herself to become so ill. Her fingers were limp from where he could see them, his eyes trailing upwards until his gaze fell on her bared left arm. The junction between her bicep and forearm was bruised and mottled, vividly discoloured against the rest of her skin.

Squinting, he moved closer, taking a hold of her arm and raising it for a closer look.

Two tiny, barely discernible crimson dots were visible against the myriad of purple and blue. It took him a moment to realize they were injection marks.

Unthinkingly, he dropped her arm, glancing around till her shoulder pack came into view, a few meters to the left of them. The effort it took to crawl over to it and drag it back nearly rendered him unconscious, but he nonetheless managed to through sheer force of will.

The bag contained wire, kunai, bandages, sheets of paper, writing materials, and a slew of other equipment. And tucked deep inside, contained within a plastic case, were a pack of stimulant injections. Carefully, he removed the plastic casing from the bag, prying it open and finding one lone, intact needle remaining, the amber fluid within the syringe moving towards the top as he withdrew it.

He recognized what it was, and slowly came to an understanding as he glanced between her and the lone injection, realizing just how many she must have administered for the enzymes in her body to start breaking down without them.

A sudden swell of rain nearly knocked the syringe from his hands. Clutching it tightly, he removed the lid on the needle, glancing once more at her motionless frame.

Her face was stark white, a sickly contrast to the blood that continued to stream from the corner of her mouth. Administering the injection now could either help her or kill her, a gamble he wasn't willing to take after coming this far.

There was only one option remaining, and he didn't pause to reconsider when he slid the needle into his own arm.

The surge of energy that followed almost instantly did nothing to stifle the agony radiating over his back or from the wound in his side, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet, anyway.

Rain continued its relentless descent on the surrounding desert, making it difficult to find footing in the mud. Despite that, he managed to recover the cloak, resting the shoulder pack on her middle before enclosing her in the wet fabric. A compass he'd recovered from her pack was the only thing that provided direction towards the village, and with it, he drew her up into his arms, leaving both their weapons behind.

Disbelief at his own actions, along with the overwhelming urge to get her through this was the only thing that stopped him from wondering how long he struggled through the endless, unchanging desert.

Nausea surfaced as the gravity of his sin settled in, his only consolation being she was no good to him if she was dead. Jashin had to forgive him. Jashin _would_ forgive him.

The sight of her limp, white hand hanging lifelessly from the cloak was his only incentive to keep moving, long after the effects of the stimulant faded and his own will left him.

By the time the village became visible on the horizon, each gasping breath felt like a knife in his chest, and his knees nearly gave out before he crossed the threshold to the first row of houses in the deserted neighbourhood. No lights shone through the windows, the houses grey and still.

Staggering into the gulley between the first two houses, he finally sank to his knees beneath the eaves, dropping her into the mud and falling back against a stack of crates to catch his breath.

The lack of rain on his skin prompted him to glance at his surroundings; the overhanging eaves were the only thing protecting him from the elements, and a window on the side of the house was mere inches over his head. Lowering his eyes, he narrowed them at the sight of her lying slightly beyond the range of the eaves, vulnerable to the rain that fell mercilessly against her pale, frigid skin.

With barely restrained fury, he moved to his knees and took hold of her, dragging her beneath an awning, fingers curling rigidly around the front of his cloak.

"Appreciate this," he whispered venomously. "You fucking bitch, I should kill you."

As he spoke, rain over-flooded the drain pipe overhead, running down the length of the roof, several drops landing against her pallid face in quick succession. Unthinkingly, he leaned forward to shield her face from the icy droplets, ignoring the sting against his back.

Smaller drops of water dripped from the ends of his hair and landed against her face, and for a long moment he merely stared at her, wanting nothing more than to end this, out of spite and out of loathing towards her indifference.

His efforts to save her suddenly became irrelevant, and the only thing he desired was to see her dead for what she'd put him through.

Unconsciously, his hand rose from his side, fingertips settling against the front of her throat, feeling the cold, slick skin before spreading around to lightly grip her throat.

Her pulse was feeble against his palm.

Hidan tightened his fingers around her throat fractionally, a muted sort of fury darkening his eyes and compelling him to clench his fingers and finish it, forget it, and move on to someone else.

The fragile skin beneath his grip gave slightly as he applied more pressure.

"I should kill you," he repeated, voice hardly audible beneath the rain. "You're useless…couldn't do shit for me."

His arm quaked with restraint, fingertips digging slightly into the flesh of her neck, relieving the pressure only when he felt her barely tangible pulse, the sensation reminding him why he was keeping her alive and why he'd come so far.

Staring at her, his hateful expression eventually receded into one of pained resignation, brow furrowing as his grip grew lax around her neck. It was difficult to fathom that this half-dead, pathetic girl was the same one he'd gotten to know in all the time that had elapsed, difficult to believe that small, bloodstained mouth was the one capable of inciting such malignant maledictions.

Unconsciously, his fingers followed his gaze, venturing up her chin and towards her lips, brushing against the blood staining the soft, pallid flesh. He froze when her eyes slid open marginally, irises nothing more than dim teal gleams between her eyelids.

For a moment he thought she might scream and his fingers tensed slightly against her mouth, prepared to clamp down in case she did.

She remained silent, staring up at him sightlessly, eyes foggy and expressionless. Her lips moved fractionally beneath his fingertips, the sensation eliciting a wrenching ache that nearly made him succumb to his exhaustion. Loose, soaked strands of his hair grazed over her face as he bowed his head, voice emerging soft and hoarse near her ear.

"I should hate you for this," he whispered, fingers slipping into the shoulder pack, gripping the hilt of a kunai. "I should hate you."

She didn't blink or speak, motionless even as he pressed the blade up against her feeble pulse, voice breaking near her ear. "I should _hate_ you…"

Despite everything, despite her failed attempts at killing him and his own overwhelming instinct to end her life and have it over with, he knew there wouldn't and couldn't be anyone else.

"It's you," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. "I know it's you. It has to be you."

The past two months testified to that; the sleepless nights, the dreams, the sense that divine will brought her to him and kept her there, making her an integral part of his life.

He screwed his eyes shut tighter, forehead eventually coming to a rest against hers, jaw clenched in the effort to restrain the blade from moving across her throat. When the pendant of his rosary came to rest in the hollow of her neck, she finally blinked, the slow brush of her lashes against his face prompting him to open his eyes.

There was no expression there, no real sign of consciousness, but she held his gaze unwaveringly in the long moment that followed.

A surreal sense of stillness descended on the enclosure, the cacophony of rain fading beneath the sound of his ragged breathing.

His grip tightened on the kunai.

_Jashin ordained death. She shouldn't have been alive._

A drop of water fell from the ends of his hair, landing against the side of her mouth. Her lips parted slightly at the sensation.

_After what she'd put him through, she deserved to die._

The beads of his rosary clinked faintly as he drew them from over his head, pressing the pendant into her palm.

_This was never supposed to happen._

He closed his eyes temporarily, breath held in the momentary silence, then lowered his head, lips parting near her ear.

"Stay alive for me," he whispered, and then abruptly flung his arm out, letting go of the kunai and shattering the window overhead.

By the time the shards hit the ground, he had already scrambled to his feet, stumbling through the gulley and towards the end of the enclosure. As the sounds of surprised voices broke through the rain, he slumped down against the wall at the back end of the house, pausing for breath once he was sure he was out of sight.

Even from where he sat, the sounds of startled voices resonated through the rain, escalating into alarmed cries when they moved to the window he'd shattered.

The sound of them speaking her name incited a degree of relief that finally almost drove him to unconsciousness. But as the voices grew in volume and proximity and the force of the rain brought the pain back with brutal vehemence, he was reminded of his surroundings. He couldn't afford to linger.

Against his better judgment, Hidan shifted closer towards the end of the wall, peering over the edge to see the homeowners crouching near Temari's side, one of them taking off for help.

The enormity of what he'd done only sank in once the medics arrived. She was placed onto a stretcher, still wrapped in his muddied cloak. A minute later, she was gone and the gulley was empty.

Hidan slowly moved back to rest against the wall, staring out into the expanse of desert, mind utterly devoid of thought.

He'd just willingly saved a life.

There was no guarantee that there would be a next time. There was no guarantee she'd be alive till then. There was no way of knowing, truly, if she was the one who'd end his life. The sin he committed could have been for nothing.

The pain in his back seemed to subside as he slowly got to his feet, taking a stumbling step forward into the rain, and then another, head bowing beneath the downpour.

His heart—having stopped shortly after she'd slit his throat—wrung out a beat, establishing a slow, weak rhythm as he passed the threshold to the village, walking forward into the desert with his eyes trained sightlessly ahead, slowly, dazedly blinking away the rain.

He had sinned, had committed the most grievous form of transgression imaginable in saving her life. He'd cast aside years of faultless devotion to ensure she lived. He had very well damned himself, and for that reason, he couldn't understand why he felt no regret.

Stumbling to a sudden stop, Hidan turned to glance back at the village, oblivious to the pain of his wounds as his fingers curled into fists by his sides.

He would be back. When he was sure he was ready, when he was sure his time had come, he would return, and his salvation would meet him there.

His lips parted, voice dispersing into the thrumming rain.

"Wait for me."

Then he turned his back to the village, slowly, unsteadily walking forward till he disappeared from sight, swallowed up in the monsoon and roiling desert as Suna slept on, tranquil and unaware.

* * *

_23 days later._

A petal fell from a wilting daffodil by Temari's bedside table, drifting silently to the ground. The steady beeping of an electrocardiograph was the only sound in the room, along with the gentle shifting of blinds as a breeze drifted through the open window.

Temari stared at the IV drip, trying to count the number of times the clear fluid dripped into the tube connected to her arm.

The nurses had meticulously removed every bit of mud she'd been covered in upon her arrival, waiting on pins and needles for her to come out of the coma she'd been in for the past twenty days.

She couldn't even register joy at the realization she was alive when she'd finally opened her eyes, couldn't even bring herself to smile at the relieved expressions of her brothers when they came into the room.

All she could think about was why the exploding notes hadn't killed her, and whether pieces of Hidan's body were still buried somewhere in the desert.

For three days, the nurses and her brothers had kept silent, warned by the doctor that any news presenting possible shock could induce another reaction, and for three days she stared into nothingness, barely speaking as she tried to piece together what she could with the fragments of memories.

The most unsettling was the memory-feeling of cold, wet metal being pressed into the palm of her hand, and for the life of her, she could glean no meaning from it.

She had incapacitated him, that much had to be true. She could only attribute her survival to the fact that his body had acted as a buffer between her and the exploding notes. What she couldn't understand was how she'd been found. The monsoon should have long buried her before help had arrived.

In an effort to distract herself from the troubling questions, Temari looked towards the calendar on her bedside table. Today was supposed to be the day Gaara moved her from the hospital to her bed at home, along with a personal nurse to continue monitoring her as she recovered.

The door to the room finally clicked open and Temari raised her eyes to see a young nurse bustle in, carrying a large paper bag.

"Good morning, Temari-san," she offered brightly, setting the bag near the bed. "We'll be getting you ready to go in a few minutes. I just thought I'd leave your things here."

"My things?" Temari echoed, voice croaky from disuse.

She nodded, taking a moment to read the data on the machines before smiling in approval.

"You're finally out of the woods, Temari-san. It will be nearly another month before you're completely healed, but after this point, there's nothing more to worry about."

"What's in the bag?" Temari asked, hardly registering the nurse's words.

"Your things," she repeated with a smile, tying a knot with the handles and depositing it at the end of the bed. "I'll be getting the stretcher for you shortly."

Temari stared at the bag, expressionless. "They couldn't find my fan, could they?"

The nurse hesitated, looking disconcerted at the question.

"What's in the bag?" Temari repeated.

"Only the things you had on you when we found you," the nurse replied uneasily. "I'm sorry, they're still soiled from the mud—"

"It's okay," Temari cut in wearily, eventually moving her gaze from the bag. "Forget it."

The shoulder pack and the clothes she'd worn were the last things she'd kept on her, nothing else. There would be no point in interrogating the nurse.

The nurse disconnected the IV stand, disappearing for a few minutes and returning with an orderly and a stretcher.

"Do you need anything else, Temari-san?" she asked gently.

Temari shook her head tiredly, closing her eyes.

"Just take me home."

* * *

Several days passed after she'd adjusted to returning to the house.

Gaara and Kankuro still refused to address the circumstances in which she'd been recovered, visiting her in her room between meetings and missions, taking her for walks around the hallways with the IV stand when she felt up for it.

The nurse who tended to her feigned ignorance when asked questions, and after a few days, Temari gave up. The bag the hospital nurse had given her rested on top of her dresser, untouched and forgotten.

It was only when she was walking and eating on her own that Gaara finally decided to break his silence.

Having taken time out of a meeting, Gaara sat at the end of her bed while she carefully spooned soup into her mouth. After a while, he raised his head to look out the window, tone impassive.

"You had some questions you wanted me to answer."

Temari stopped the spoon's ascent to her mouth, raising her head at his words.

Gaara turned his head from the window to look at her, watching her face for a reaction as he slowly spoke, knowing what she wanted to hear.

"We found you outside Michiru-san's house, in the gulley next to her window."

The spoon clattered into the bowl, Temari's eyes widening as her brother continued to regard her calmly.

"You were practically in a comatose state when we found you, and we only found you because someone deliberately broke Michiru-san's window."

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "Someone put you there for us to find."

When Temari didn't reply, Gaara immediately stood up, concern etched in his features as she paled, her trembling fingers fisting into her lap.

"Lay still," he instructed, taking a step back. "I will bring the nurse—"

"No," Temari whispered, managing to raise her wide eyes, catching his gaze. "No, stay. You have to tell me what happened."

There was little more he could tell her. She'd been found at the outskirts of the village, devoid of injuries save for the internal bleeding caused by the stimulants' side effects. There were no tracks they could follow—the rain had taken care of erasing any footprints, and the mud had drowned whatever other evidence that might have existed.

And when Gaara finally asked her why she'd left on the night of the monsoon and where she'd gone, she could give him no answer, though her own memory extended as far back as the moment before the exploding notes had gone off.

Her brother didn't pursue the issue, averting his gaze to the open window and sitting in silence. Temari avoided his gaze, forcing herself to finish her soup, though her appetite had long since abandoned her.

"Temari?" Gaara finally murmured, after a long period of silence.

She slowly raised her head to look at him, gripping the bedspread. "Yes?"

His voice was calm.

"Who was he?"

She stared at him for a long moment, then shifted her gaze towards the open window and the sunlight streaming through. Her eyes traced the windowsill, conjuring a ghost of the crow that used to cross the threshold each night in her dreams.

It didn't come anymore.

"He's dead," Temari finally answered quietly, and said nothing more.

* * *

Gaara left the room soon after he'd gotten all he could out of her, looking neither angry nor frustrated with her silence. Rather, her assurance that the cause of all this was gone was all that he needed to hear, and barring further questions, he left her to rest.

Temari didn't know how long she stayed in the same position, gazing blankly out the window as thin clouds passed over the sun, casting shadows across her features.

The exploding notes had been a failure. That was the only thing she could conclude from the fact that she'd survived with minor scorch marks on her clothing, and Hidan had retained the capacity to bring her back to the village.

She closed her eyes, brow furrowing as she recalled his anger and malcontent, the scathing words and contradictions, the way he'd violently flung her into the barricade wall. It was difficult to fathom him carrying her the distance back to the village with his numerous fatal injuries, and even more so to imagine why he'd want to after she'd been the one to inflict them.

His insane belief that she was the only one capable of killing him was not reason enough. There was nothing in him that suggested rationale or compassion. She couldn't understand why she was still alive.

When Temari opened her eyes again, her gaze settled on the paper bag that had been placed on her dresser nearly a week before. Slowly, she reached out to steady herself as she sat up, gradually getting to her feet to retrieve the bag.

A part of her hoped the sight of her equipment might stir her memory, and despite her doubts, she slowly sat back down on her bed and undid the knot in the bag, reaching inside.

Her shoulder pack was the first thing she withdrew, caked with mud and what looked like bloodstains, the sight making her draw a sharp breath as she held it in her hands. It had been done up, and she couldn't remember whether she'd had the time to close it or whether the nurses had done it for her.

With unsteady fingers, she unzipped the bag, turning it upside down and letting the contents fall onto the bed.

A few remaining kunai, stained bandages, ruined paper, writing materials, wire, and the plastic casing of the stimulant injections fell to the bedspread. She stared at the plastic casing, slowly realizing that there had been one needle remaining when she'd opened it last.

When she pried the lid open, it was empty.

_He took it_, she realized faintly, staring at the empty slot. _He must have taken it when…_

Realizing the extent of the lengths he'd gone to in ensuring her survival nearly made her sick, plaguing her with an unsettled feeling she couldn't place. Her devotion to hating him, obsessing over him had been far from one-sided, she now realized. The things he'd said, the things he'd done—they were all suggestive of the idea that his obsession had stemmed even deeper than hers.

Temari took a slow, deep breath to calm the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, settling for examining the rest of the material.

The rest of the pack yielded nothing. As she put the items back inside and reached forward to place them into the bag, the mud-caked clothes at the bottom of the bag caught her eye. A grimace worked its way onto her features, and against her better judgment she withdrew it, listening to pieces of dried, cracked mud fall to the floor.

The fabric had become incredibly stiff, so much so she couldn't unfold the layers.

Grabbing the paper bag, she took the clothes into the bathroom, kneeling near the side of the tub as she turned the faucet on full blast. As the tub filled, she traced the convoluted surface of the fabric, wondering why the nurses had kept it.

When there was enough water, she dropped the stiff bundle into the tub, reaching inside to shake the mud out of the fabric. The gush of warm water from the faucet chipped off the stubborn bits of dirt that remained, and as the sediment dispersed from the fabric and sank to the bottom of the tub, she froze.

Red silk shone dully through the cloudy surface, encompassing the entire length of the lining as the garment slowly unfolded itself, the fabric billowing through the water.

Heart hammering in her chest, Temari shook the rest of the mud out of the cloth, scrubbing it till she was left with a full-length cloak, the silk gleaming wetly as she slowly pulled it from the water, tracing the cloud pattern in the black fabric. She found that she'd momentarily stopped breathing.

_What's in the bag?_

_Only the things you had on you when we found you…I'm sorry, they're still soiled from the mud—_

He put it on me, she thought, feeling an indescribable blend of disbelief and faintness.

It didn't surprise her that no one had noticed the significance of the muddied cloak she'd been found in. Common sense would only dictate that she'd take some sort of covering out into a monsoon. They'd assumed it was hers and kept it.

With trembling fingers, trying to overcome her shock, Temari slowly raised the cloak out of the water, getting to her feet. As water cascaded back into the tub, the sight of a small hole became visible in the back of the cloak. It was a clean cut, as if made by the blade of a knife.

Darker blotches—most likely blood—stained portions of the clouds near the front, testaments to when she'd cut his throat. The rest of it was relatively undamaged, and the fact that she'd been covered in it, the sight and feel of it in her hands and in her home gave her a sense of disturbance she couldn't even begin to describe.

She squeezed as much water out of it as she could, unplugging the drain and bundling the cloak into a ball. Grabbing the bag, she quickly made her way back to her room, locking her bedroom door before unfolding the cloak once more, spreading it over the bedspread.

It looked surreal against the backdrop of her room.

As she stood there staring at it, for reasons beyond her understanding, she couldn't bring herself to throw it in the garbage.

She bundled it up once more, grabbing the bag and preparing to throw it back inside when a faint, clinking rattle emerged from within.

Reaching into it, she felt a cold, unreal sensation bleed into her limbs when her fingertips touched metal. Wide-eyed, she retrieved the object from the bag, stomach sinking at the sound of clinking beads.

_Sensation—muddled and faint—metal, something cold, something round, pressing into her palm._

The rosary was intact and clean, the pendant heavy in her hand. For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to move, a plethora of sensations surfacing at the feel of the rosary.

_Skin—water—mud—touch—violet—_

Her knees buckled, fingers tightening around the rosary. Short of breath, she sank to the mattress.

…_voice._

"Stay alive for me," she breathed weakly, closing her eyes and burying her face in her hands, oblivious to the cool beads pressing into her cheek.

He would come back.

She had no way of knowing when or how, but the fact that he'd gone to such efforts to save her and purposely left his rosary dispelled any doubts that lingered in the back of her mind. He would seek her out when he felt the time was right. This would never end till at least one of them was dead.

The beads gradually warmed against her flesh, her shadow curving over the walls as the sun sank outside the window. Gradually, the sounds of children laughing and playing in the neighbourhood infiltrated the room, their voices pulling her from her stupor.

Lowering her hands from her face, Temari gazed at the dark beads in her hand, fingers skimming the underside of the pendant.

_Stay alive for me._

The request was something she was willing to grant, she realized, rising to her feet and making her way to the window, casting her gaze out on the children that ran down the street.

She would live. She would make up for the time she had lost. She would thrive. And when and if he ever returned, she would give him what he wanted.

A strange calmness overtook her then as she watched the children disappear down the street, the uncertainty that had haunted her for months gradually receding.

The hatred would remain. It would fester beneath the surface, dormant and reserved for him—only him—and what they had. It would feed her desire to prosper and bring him his end. It would endure, for as caustic and self-destructing it was, she couldn't let go of it, couldn't fall out of it.

Temari took a deep breath, fingers tightening around the pendant.

"I'll wait for you," she murmured.

Another shrill bout of faint laughter drifted up the street. The sun sank down behind the horizon.

She closed the blinds.

* * *

_When I reach my end of days, it will be with you by my side. Our hands clasped eternal, we will meet the Devil together, you and I. And once we lose ourselves to the smoke and cloying sweetness of a sinner's paradise, I will be content in passing eternity with you, squeezing your hand to the melody of your screams. _

_This is my promise. This is my undying devotion._

_My one, my only,_

_I will hate you forever._

* * *

_End_.


End file.
